


Crossing Oceans

by skimmingthesurface, SylviaW1991



Series: Mystery Best Friends Side Stories [1]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged!Twins, Bad Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, pinescone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dipper closed the distance, taking his hand and lacing their fingers. It didn’t matter that he stuttered some. He could still be taken seriously. He was important. He mattered enough to be called more by his own father. How often had Wirt wondered since sending the card if his dad had gotten it and read a question about his birthday? As much as Dipper and his own dad had their troubles, he’d never had to ask to spend a birthday together."</p>
<p>- Chapter 14 in "Lakeville, City of Lakes"</p>
<p>Wirt spends his 16th birthday with his dad and things don't exactly go according to plan.</p>
<p>Set between part three and part four of "Mystery Best Friends."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> So, here is the first side story for MBF 'verse! For those of you who have read Skimming's "Less Than the Cloud to the Wind," you will find that the forward of this fic is pretty much identical to the first half of that fic, with some minor adjustments to suit the tone of MBF 'verse, such as mentions of the twins and some extra conversations. We wanted the context of the fic to be accessible to everyone without having to direct everyone to "Less Than the Cloud to the Wind" since things would be different. Chapter one will also start out similarly, but that is where the biggest changes will start to unfurl.
> 
> Also, Wirt's birthday in this 'verse is August 24th. For timeline purposes.

“Mom, do I have to go?”

Wirt’s whine was muffled by the couch – or possibly the chair, but Greg was pretty sure if he turned around he’d see his older brother spread out, face down on the couch like a broken marionette. From his perch at the front window, Greg listened as their mom clucked at his brother, while keeping his gaze rooted on the street outside their house.

“You already agreed to go, Wirt. You can’t back out now. Greg, stop staring out the window,” she interjected briefly, then returned to the subject of Wirt’s sorrows with a sigh. “Sweetheart, it’s only for a few days.”

“Six days,” Wirt grumbled.

“Six days,” their mom repeated, then added: “In _Paris_. I’m jealous, Wirt. It’s not every day you get to spend a week in France. Your dad may not do many things right, but he certainly knows how to make a statement. Gregory, I’m not going to tell you again, get away from the window.”

Greg glanced back over his shoulder, offering her the sweetest, candy-coated smile he could manage. She raised an eyebrow and watched him until he sidestepped away from the window. When she was satisfied, she turned to face Wirt – who was face down on the couch just as Greg predicted. He knew his big brother’s pouting habits well, even if Wirt would never admit to pouting. While she wasn’t looking, Greg hurried back to the window and pressed his face to it.

There was still no sign of his brother’s mysterious dad. He’d never seen the man before, so he couldn’t help but be curious and a little bit excited to see just who Mort Palmer really was. Plus he needed to relay any and all details surrounding Wirt’s dad to Dipper and Mabel. Would he arrive wearing a suit, clutching a briefcase, with slicked back hair and secret service sunglasses? Or would he be a hunchback, with a snaggle-tooth smile and a receding hairline? Or would lighting split the sky the second he arrived, his hair frazzled like a mad scientist, with an eye patch and a mustache befitting Snidely Whiplash, Dudley Do-Right of the Royal Canadian Mounties’s sworn enemy?

_Ribbit_. Greg looked away from the window, his palms still pressed against the glass to brace himself as he turned his attention to Jason Funderburker. The frog blinked up at him, unimpressed with his spying.

“It’s not spying if there’s no one to spy on,” he whispered to him, scooping him up so he could see out the window. “See? I’m just admiring the driveway. There’s nothing wrong with admiring driveways.”

Jason Funderburker croaked quietly, so Greg took that as his agreement. He placed the frog on top of his head, or on top of his tea kettle to be more precise, and returned to “admiring the driveway.” He didn’t get so lost in thought this time, listening to Wirt and their mom continue their conversation.

“I didn’t ask for a statement, Mom. I just asked if I could see him. I thought we could have dinner or something. Something normal.” Wirt’s voice was clearer now, so he must have sat up.

“I know. I know it’s hard to wrap your head around this. You’re going from zero to sixty and I know that scares you, but think of it like an adventure. Your Hero’s Journey,” their mom replied, sounding fairly optimistic.

Greg snorted at the same time Wirt did, thinking exactly what his brother put into words. “I’ve already had a Hero’s Journey, and I’m not exactly hankering to have another just yet.”

Well, maybe Greg didn’t think that exactly, but he agreed that they’d already had a Hero’s Journey. While it had already been ten months since their adventure in The Unknown on that Halloween night, sometimes it still felt like only yesterday he and his brother and Beatrice were wandering through the woods, meeting Dipper and Mabel, escaping The Beast. Not to mention their adventure in Gravity Falls that summer, fighting off Splinter Man and Gideon the Evil Show Pony.

“I don’t think I’d call what happened on Halloween your Hero’s Journey,” their mom continued and Greg glanced back at the two of them in time to see her lean down to press a kiss to the top of Wirt’s head. “You were certainly a hero though. There’s no doubt about that. And if you can pull your little brother and your frog out of a freezing lake after tumbling down a hill, I think you can put up with your dad for a week. A week that is all about celebrating your sixteenth birthday. In Paris.” She placed her hands on his cheeks and squeezed. “Just try to relax and have a bit of fun with it, okay?”

Wirt huffed quietly with amusement. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

“Thank you, that’s all I ask.” She smiled at him, then let go of him to go back to tidying up the living room even though it was already pretty clean from what Greg could see. “I want you to have a good time.”

“I want to have a good time, too,” he replied, getting to his feet so he could pace. “And I mean, I am excited about Paris. I’ve already planned out everything I want to check out while we’re there and a part of me still can’t really believe I’m going. I just-” He ran his fingers through his hair as he paused and sighed. “I just don’t want to go with him. _Ugh_. Why did I say yes?”

Greg’s mood dropped a few degrees shy of happy as he watched his brother slump against the wall, stress radiating off of him in waves. It tensed his shoulders and made him hide his face in his hands. Greg’s gaze flicked between the window and Wirt a few times. He wondered if this was the sort of thing he should call Dipper about as he took several steps towards him. Well, he’d try and cheer him up first, then steal his brother’s phone to call his boyfriend. Greg set Jason Funderburker down, then pointed at Wirt with a firm nod so their frog would go to him.

He did, he was always a good listener when it came to Wirt, and their lucky frog hopped right up him and croaked until he caught Wirt’s attention. Greg smiled and waved when his brother glanced over at him, pleased when the eye roll that followed was more amused than anything. His older brother picked up the frog and walked over to him, placing him back on top of the kettle.

“Hey!” Greg giggled when Wirt flicked him on the forehead.

“Thanks, Greg,” he told him, even if his actions didn’t exactly spell out “gratitude” Greg could still tell.

He gave him a thumbs up. “No problem, brother o’ mine. You can always count on me to turn your frown upside-down.”

Wirt managed to smile a little before his gaze shifted to the window and worry lines creased his brow. Greg followed where he was looking, a little part of him hoping that there’d be a car parked in front of their house so he could finally see Wirt’s dad for the first time ever, but another part of him, a bigger part surprisingly, hoped the street would still be empty to give his brother more time to relax and cheer up. Both brothers breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t see a car. Wirt’s smile grew as Greg beamed at him. His big brother knocked on his kettle twice, then turned to head down the hallway.

“I’m gonna finish packing. Let me know when he gets here,” Wirt told them.

“Aye aye, captain!” Greg held up his salute until his brother’s door closed, then he dropped it and ran over to their mom by way of climbing over the arm chair, stepping on the end table, and then hurrying across the couch. “Mom! Mom!”

She paused at the mantle, in the middle of straightening the picture frames sitting on top of it. “Yes, Greg?”

Standing on the couch cushion closest to her, he placed his hands on his hips and tried to look as stern as possible. “We have to find a way to make sure Wirt has the best time for his birthday. It’s his sixteenth! It’s the most important one! Besides double digits. And fifty.”

“It is a very important birthday,” she agreed. “But I think it’s going to have to be up to Wirt to make sure he has a good time. And his dad. There’s not much we’ll be able to do from here.”

Greg frowned. “That’s no way to talk, soldier. You can do anything if you set your mind to it!”

“Oh, you’re right. Of course, how could I forget?” She grinned at him and poked his puffed up cheeks until he smiled and laughed. “We’ll just have to think of something then. Something extra special!”

“Yeah!” Greg’s face lit up and he grabbed onto her wrists. “Something super extra special! I don’t want him to be sad on his trip. Especially ‘cause it’s a trip with his dad.”

“I know, honey. I don’t want him to be sad either. Now, what do you think we could do to make sure Wirt smiles and knows just how much we love him while he’s away?” she asked him.

Obviously finding a way to get Dipper to spend his birthday with him, but that was something even their minds wouldn’t be able to manage. With the twins back home in California, school having started last week over there, there was no way they’d be able to get here in time. Plus it was a lot of money.

But Dipper was definitely somebody who never failed to put a smile on Wirt’s face and was pretty good at showing him that he loved him for the most part. There was nobody Greg trusted more to look after his big brother than him and Mabel, aside from himself of course-

His smile stretched wide across his face as he put his palms together, a realization lighting up. “I know exactly what to do,” he told their mom. “I’ll go with him!”

Her smile faltered as she processed what he said. “What?”

“I’ll go with Wirt to Paris, Mom. That way I can be there to make sure he has a good time!”

“Oh, honey. No, you can’t go with Wirt to Paris. This is supposed to be a trip for just him and his dad. So they can… connect more,” she replied.

Greg waved off her concerns. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll make sure they connect! I know all about having a good time with dads, I can show Wirt how it’s done!”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Greg. Wirt’s dad and your dad are two very different types of dads. I’m sure Wirt can handle himself. Maybe.” Her brow furrowed as she considered the idea, then she shook her head. “Anyway, I was thinking you could do something more along the lines of writing your brother a nice letter or drawing him a picture and leaving it in his suitcase as a surprise. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“How about I hide in the suitcase as a surprise?” he suggested instead.

“Greg, you can’t go with them,” she told him again.

“Why not?”

It was the perfect plan, and honestly he didn’t see what was so wrong with it. He’d stay out of the way and let Wirt have a good time with his dad. He’d just be there for support. Like a coach or a cheerleader. He could bring pom-poms and make supportive signs cheering him on.

Besides, he and Wirt hadn’t been apart for more than a day since Halloween, and while he didn’t want to say anything, he was kind of worried about spending a whole week without him. For Wirt’s sake, of course. Greg would be fine on his own, but his big brother would need him. And Jason Funderburker.

“Honey, I just don’t…” Their mom chewed on her lower lip as she thought about it.

Greg plastered on his very best pleading face, hands clasped together under his chin as he blinked up at her. She shook her head and straightened up, hands on her hips as she struggled to maintain eye contact with him. Their staring contest lasted until Greg’s eyes teared up and he had to blink and rub at them with his fists.

“It’s not up to you or me, Greg,” she finally decided on saying.

Greg frowned and placed his hands on his hips to mirror her. “Is it up to Wirt?” he asked.

His mom opened her mouth to reply, but paused as she considered that. “I suppose,” she hedged. “Since it is Wirt’s birthday trip, it would be up to him on whether or not you could go.”

Greg grinned. “So if he says he wants me there, then I can go?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If he says he wants you there, then you have my permission to ask Wirt’s dad if you’re allowed to go. He’s the one who’s going to be in charge, so he has the final say.”

“Wirt’s the one turning sixteen, I think he should have final say,” he attempted to negotiate.

“Nice try, buddy, but that’s not how it works.” She gave his back a pat so he’d hop down from the couch, then she straightened out the cushions that he crumpled in his haste to run to her. “But go ahead and see what Wirt thinks.”

“He’s gonna say yes!” Greg told her as he raced down the hall to his brother’s bedroom door and knocked loudly.

“Don’t get your hopes up!” their mom called to him as the door opened.

Wirt’s eyes were lined with worry as he poked his head out, his face a shade paler than normal with his cell phone clutched in hand. “Is he here?”

Oh, right. He’d told them to tell him when his dad arrived. Greg beamed and shook his head while Jason Funderburker croaked. Wirt relaxed visibly and opened the door wider, revealing the half-packed suitcase sitting on the floor. Talk about last minute packing, Greg mused as he eyed it for a moment before Wirt garnered his attention.

“What’s up then?” he asked, finishing typing whatever text he was sending to Dipper. Probably some ob-waffle related poetry like how his face was more beautiful than the moon on a spoon in June.

“Well, you’re worried about going on this trip with your dad, right?” Greg opened, leaning against the doorframe as casually as possible.

Wirt looked like he wanted to deny it, but let out a long breath instead and closed his flip phone. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that,” he agreed as he stepped over the suitcase to pick up some shirts from his bed.

“Because it’s just going to be you and him? Alone?” he pressed.

His brother seemed to be catching on. Slowly, he lowered the shirts and turned his head to fix Greg with the same narrow stare that their mom had just used on him. He hummed softly as he lifted an eyebrow.

“What are you getting at, Greg?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering if you’d feel better if you didn’t have to be alone with your dad,” Greg replied. “If you’d feel better if I was there with you.”

His brother’s suspicion faded as a small, sort of sad and sort of happy smile pulled at his lips. “Of course I’d feel better if you were with me,” he confirmed, tossing one of the shirts into the suitcase.

Greg’s smile grew as he sensed their mom standing right behind him, hearing every word. “So do you want me to come with you? ‘Cause I will. I’ll do it.”

“Yeah, I want you to come,” Wirt answered, dropping to his knees to sort through the clothes he had. “But it can’t happen, Greg. We’ve only got two tickets and our flight leaves today and you would need to pack and- and I just don’t see it working out. Plus, it’s expensive. I mean, I don’t have the money to pay for your ticket, and there’s no way I’m asking Dad-”

“Don’t worry about the money,” their mom piped up, startling Wirt into looking up from where he’d been staring into the depths of his suitcase.

“What?” He gaped at her.

Her gaze focused on him. “Would you really feel better if Greg went with you?” she asked Wirt.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, his eyes wide and hopeful.

She turned her attention to Greg, who stood straight under her stare. “And would you really be on your very, very best behavior and not cause your brother and his father any trouble?”

“Yes,” Greg mimicked the way Wirt answered her, then leaned in. “Is that a yes, Mom?”

Her stern façade faded as she couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. “It’s a yes from me,” she acquiesced, then held up her index finger before either of her sons could get too excited. “But your dad still has to agree. Both of your dads. Capisce?” She glanced between the two of them.

“Absolutely. Yes, of course.” Wirt nodded as he tripped over himself in his haste to get to his feet, phone pressed over his heart. “But, Mom, are you serious? You’re serious? But how? I mean, it’s a lot of money and-”

“I told you, don’t worry about the money. If your dad says it’s okay and if Jonathan isn’t against it either, then we’ve got a little extra in savings that we can use for Greg’s ticket,” she told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, it means we won’t be replacing the carpet in your room any time soon, but yes. I’m sure. I want you to enjoy this trip and this time with your dad. If having Greg along will help, then I can’t be against it,” she replied, then pointed to his suitcase. “But you’ll both need to be packed.”

“Right. Yes. Come on, Greg, help me get the rest of this stuff in here.” Wirt piled more sweaters into his suitcase, forming a mini mountain that spilled out the sides as he pushed down on it.

“Cannonball!” Greg shouted, giving Wirt just enough warning to lean away from the bag as Greg bellyflopped on the clothes to try and squish them.

By the time the doorbell rang, Wirt’s suitcase and carry-on were waiting by the front door and the brothers had turned their attention to stuffing Greg’s in between hasty, but happy, texts to Dipper. As the chime echoed through the house, Wirt froze and his fingers tightened around one of the stuffed animals Greg insisted on bringing with him. With shaky breaths, Wirt inhaled and exhaled slowly, then met his gaze. Greg gave him a thumbs up, then darted out of his room and into the living room just as their mom opened the door.

This was it. He was finally going to see what Wirt’s dad looked like. Sounded like. Would he sound like Wirt at all? With his Snidely Whiplash mustache and hunched back and briefcase? Greg clasped his hands together as he watched the man step inside their house.

There was no thunderous clap or jagged bolt of lightning. There was no ominous organ music or drums bellowing upon his arrival. And he didn’t have a mustache.

All in all, he looked very… ordinary.

“Good to see you, Amelia,” Mort Palmer greeted their mom, his voice a rather pleasant tenor. “You’re looking well.”

Their mom had blow-dried her hair and straightened it with a flat iron that morning, what she did whenever she wanted to make it look like she didn’t put too much effort into looking nice. Wirt said it was because she wanted to show off in front of his dad, show him what he was missing out on. It was the same reason she cleaned the house extra good, even though it had already been pretty clean.

She held her head high as she looked him over. “So do you,” she acknowledged as she closed the door behind him. “Come on in. Wirt should be ready in just a minute.”

“I know how he is with packing. Always last minute, that boy,” Mort replied, as if he knew Wirt’s habits like the back of his hand and Greg had to frown a little as he looked him over.

He was taller than his mom by a good deal, with long, slender legs – but not in a spindly, spider sort of way, just a normal kind of tall way – and equally long arms. With the way Wirt was growing – all awkward limbs and angles – Greg could easily imagine that this was the kind of person he was growing up into. Well, sort of. Greg narrowed his gaze a bit as he took in Mort Palmer’s face and hair. His hair was nicely kept, not in constant disarray like their mom’s, Wirt’s, or even his own, though it was dark brown like Wirt’s, but their mom’s hair was also the same dark, oaky shade. His face was sharper than Wirt’s though, his chin and jaw very distinct, but they had the same nose. Greg touched his own lightly. He himself didn’t really look anything like Wirt. They didn’t even have the same colored eyes.

“Ah… this must be Gregory?” He blinked as he heard the man address him, glancing between his mom and Mort.

“Yes. Come say hello, Greg.” His mom waved him over, so he stepped closer to them.

Mort had his arms clasped behind his back, so Greg mimicked his posture and held his head up. “Hi, I’m Greg. It’s nice to meet you,” he told him, remembering what his mom said about being on his best behavior. If he wanted Wirt’s dad to let him come with them on the trip, then he had to make a good impression.

The man smiled at him, but there was something wrong with it. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Greg. I’m Mr. Palmer.” He held out his hand for him to shake.

Greg had to arch an eyebrow at that, but took his hand nonetheless. “Wirt calls my dad Jonathan,” he told him. “I can’t call you Mort?”

Mort straightened his shoulders, the strange smile tightening around his mouth and eyes as he looked down on him. “I think Mr. Palmer should suffice.”

Greg glanced between him and his mom, then shrugged and nodded. “Okay. If you say so, Mr. Palmer.”

“Do you want something to drink?” His mom redirected the conversation like a pro, her smile just as odd and misplaced on her face as the man before her. “Or a snack, or something?”

Mort shook his head, waving the request away with his hand. “No. No, I’m alright, thanks. I had a late breakfast.” Movement from behind Greg caught the man’s eye, his gaze going right over his head. “Wirt,” he started, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Well, look at you, son. You’re almost a man.”

Greg glanced over his shoulder, crinkling his nose at his brother as he mouthed, ‘What?’ to him. Wirt’s gaze bounced from his to his dad’s as he lingered in the hallway for a moment, as if the floor would swallow him up whole if he so much as left the comfort of the wall. Oh boy, did his brother need him on this trip or what?

“Hi, Dad,” Wirt greeted, his voice cracking a little. “Um… how are you?”

“Good, I’ve been good,” he replied. “Are you all set? We need to leave soon if we want to make our flight on time.”

Wirt fidgeted and Greg watched the way he scuffed the toes of his shoes against the floor. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m packed, I just- I just had… was wondering, umm…”

“Wirt, stop stammering,” Mort sighed impatiently.

As Wirt paled a shade, Greg whipped his head around to frown at the man. He’d said something like that on the phone call he, Dipper, and Mabel had listened in on that made Dipper really mad. His attention was drawn to their mom as she frowned, too, her arms crossed over her chest as she fixed Mort with a stern look. Sterner than he’d ever seen her look at him or Wirt.

“I’m… it’s not stammering, exactly…” Wirt muttered, and Greg glanced back to watch him fold into himself a bit.

“Mortimer,” their mom warned the man and he held up his hands as he backtracked a bit.

“I’m sorry, it’s just something I thought he would’ve outgrown by now,” he defended.

Their mom raised an eyebrow, staring coolly at him. “I think our son has something he wants to ask you. Would you please be quiet and listen?”

“I’d listen if he actually spoke up and said what he wanted,” Mort replied.

Wirt’s cheeks colored, and he hid his face in his hands to muffle his strained groan. Jason Funderburker croaked, poking his head out from under the teapot to see what was going on. Their lucky frog knew just the right thing to say. Greg smiled up at him as it got Wirt to lower his hands and take a deep enough breath to get his face to not be so red.

“Dad? I really appreciate you taking the time to take me on this trip,” Wirt tried again, his voice firmer and surprising both of his parents. “It’s pretty incredible, and more than I could’ve imagined, but I was wondering- and Mom said it was okay already and that she’d cover it, but I was wondering if it would be alright with you if we brought Greg along. I mean, my actual sixteenth birthday will happen while we’re in France, and I… think it’s important that he’s there. I’d like him to be there. With us. If that’s okay. Is it okay?”

Wirt had paled a bit again, so Greg gave him a secret double thumbs up to let him know he did a great job. Because he had! Greg for one was very impressed with the way he set up and asked the question. Both brothers looked to the man in question for his response, Greg keeping his fingers crossed behind his back while Mort glanced between them, to their mom, and then back at Wirt.

“Well… that’s…” It was Mort’s turn to be at a loss for words, Greg noted with a grin. Oh, how the tables have turned. “You said it was alright?” he asked their mom.

She nodded. “It’s what Wirt wants, and it is his birthday. I told them ultimately it would be up to you, but I did give my permission for Greg to go if you don’t mind having him along.”

“I didn’t think they liked each other,” Mort remarked.

“We like each other,” Greg pointed out at the same time Wirt did, though he was more matter-of-fact about it while Wirt sounded a bit more defensive. “We’re the best brothers,” Greg added with a grin.

“Right,” Wirt tacked on.

“And Wirt’s always way more fun whenever I’m around, so it would be a win for you, too!” Greg continued, doing his part to sell Mort on the idea of letting him come on the trip.

“Right- hey.” Wirt frowned as he realized just what he was agreeing to. “I’m fun without you.”

“No, you’re not,” Greg assured him.

“Greg-”

“Boys. Don’t start.” Their mom pointed to both of them. “Arguing isn’t going to help you win your case.”

Mort snorted, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned his attention back to her. “Are you sure you can afford it? A music teacher’s salary doesn’t exactly have the wiggle room for whims like this, let alone yours.”

Greg watched as their mom and Wirt both bristled, so he crossed his arms and made a serious looking face as well because clearly that was the thing to do. Not that he was sure why though, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with his dad. Given the music teacher thing and all.

“We can more than manage,” their mom replied tersely. “If you don’t want to take him with you, then just say so, Mort. It’s your call.”

The man shrugged. “He can come along if he wants. It doesn’t matter to me. The suite I’ve booked is big enough as long as he and Wirt don’t mind sharing.”

“We don’t!” Wirt immediately stepped up to say. “Are you- you’re sure, Dad?”

“Can he be packed and ready to go in five minutes?” Mort asked.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely. He’s already packed.” Wirt started to babble while Greg jumped up and down with a joyous laugh. “I’ll go grab his suitcase. And my suitcase. Thanks, Dad. Really, thank you.”

“It’s not every day a young man turns sixteen.” Mort waved it off. “You should get to have the birthday you want.”

Wirt’s face honestly lit up, a hopeful smile shining in the corners of his lips and he nodded and raced down the hall to grab their stuff. Greg turned to follow him, then remembered something very important and spun around to look at Mort again.

“Thank you, Mr. Palmer!” he chirped.

“You’re welcome,” he returned.

Greg grinned, then bounded off for his room, but not before he heard his mom’s hushed voice. “Do not ruin this for him. The last thing he needs is for you to break his heart again. He won’t get past that. Not again.”

“If you don’t trust me, Amelia, then why are you letting me take him?” Mort hissed back.

“Because I’m optimistic!” she whispered harshly. “I want Wirt to have a good relationship with you. For his sake.”

“For someone who’s so optimistic, you’re certainly assuming the worst in me,” he muttered.

“Well, you don’t exactly have the best track record, do you?”

The rest of the conversation slipped past him, went right over his head as Greg jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. He looked back to see Wirt bent down next to him. His big brother took his hand, then gently coaxed him out of the hall and into his bedroom. Greg followed obediently, but blinked at the contact. Wirt holding his hand wasn’t unusual anymore, he always held his hand when they crossed the street or went somewhere crowded, but they were only going a few feet in their house. Still, Greg let Wirt hold his hand if it made him feel better and let him lead him away even though he wanted to find out the rest of their mom and Mort’s conversation. He figured he heard enough, because he knew now more than ever what a good idea it was for him to go with them on Wirt’s birthday trip.

He wasn’t letting anybody break his brother’s heart. Not on his watch.

 

\----

 

_Ribbit._

“Shh!” Greg took a peek down the inside of his sweatshirt that his mom insisted on him taking because it would be cold once they were on the plane and gazed sternly at the froggy face blinking back at him. “If you’re going to stowaway properly, you’re going to have to be quieter than that, Jason Funderburker.”

Their frog simply stared at him, but since he didn’t make another sound, Greg took that as a silent promise to stay… well, silent. Smiling to himself, Greg let go of the collar of his sweatshirt, concealing Jason Funderburker once more and bounced on his heels as he waited for Wirt and Wirt’s dad to finish collecting their things from the x-ray bins from security. With only his backpack and his shoes to worry about, Greg had easily finished first. Wirt seemed to be coming in second, he’d accidentally left his belt on when he walked through the metal detector, and Mort was in third because he had a bag with a laptop on top of his shoes, belt, and watch that had to go in the bins.

Since Jason Funderburker wasn’t made of metal, he didn’t make the detector go off the way Wirt’s belt did. Greg had tucked him into the front of his overalls so he was nice and secure before slipping the bright orange sweatshirt on. His mom made him take that one, because then he’d be easy to spot if he wandered away from Wirt, which he was told to absolutely under no circumstance do.

“Even if I see a Cinnabon place at the airport?” Greg had asked their mom and his dad while Wirt and Mort put the bags in the rental car.

“Even if you see a Cinnabon place,” his dad laughed, ruffling his hair before scooping him in a big hug - though Greg was careful to angle Jason Funderburker away so his cover wouldn’t be blown. “But we gave Wirt some pocket money, so if you ask real nice, I bet he’ll buy you one.”

“If I promise not to wander away from him, can he buy me two?” Greg negotiated.

He was passed to his mom so she could kiss him on the forehead. “Your limit is one Cinnabon per visit to the Cinnabon store, Gregory. Do not guilt your brother into letting you have two and do not steal his if he decides to buy one for himself.”

“I won’t. And that’s a rock fact!” Greg reached into his pocket and whipped out his rock facts rock.

“Gregory,” his mom had warned.

“It’s a true one,” he assured her as she set him down.

It was a true one. He wouldn’t guilt Wirt into letting him have two - because while guilt-tripping his brother was the easiest way to get what he wanted it also made him feel the worst - and he wouldn’t steal Wirt’s cinnamon roll either. But he’d find a way to get two. There was always a way.

Greg stood on his tiptoes to scan the food places around the airport gates in front of him. No sign of a Cinnabon place yet. Or even a place for ice cream. Well, hopefully there’d be better places by their gate. Darkness suddenly shrouded everything, a pair of hands clapped over his eyes. Greg gasped, then giggled as he heard Wirt’s laugh from behind him. Prying them off, Greg turned around to bump their foreheads together as he grinned at him.

“Are you done being as slow as molasses?” he asked, then squealed as Wirt poked him hard in the sides and darted away from him.

He stuck his tongue out at him, pleased when, after a quick glance around to make sure no one was looking, Wirt returned the gesture with a silly face. “Watch yourself, mister.”

“You watch yourself,” Greg returned, holding his chin high.

Wirt raised an eyebrow, his lips pulled to the side in an amused smirk, but all of that went away as soon as Mort brushed past him. “Gate’s this way, boys,” he told them, comparing the number printed on their tickets to the numbers on the signs with arrows directing them.

Greg’s own smile faded a little as he watched the way Wirt’s shoulders tensed, hunching up by his ears. His fingers clenched around the strap of his satchel and the little lines that creased around his eyes and mouth when he was worried or anxious or scared or stressed marked his face. All his dad had done was bump his shoulder, just barely, not even a bump. Greg puffed out his cheeks and placed his hands on his hips. This was going to be a lot tougher than he thought, but he was determined to make sure Wirt and Mort had a good time together. Just because Wirt didn’t wish for things to be different - to have a better dad who loved him - didn’t mean that he didn’t deserve it.

“Wirt! Let’s get a move on!” Mort called out, spurring Wirt into motion.

His older brother hurried right after the man, passing Greg by completely in his haste. Well, that was unexpected, he reflected, grabbing onto the straps of his backpack as he watched Wirt’s back steadily blend in with the crowd around him, chasing the back of Mort in front of him. When he almost lost sight of him, Greg was startled into a run, weaving in between carry-ons and businessmen and globs of families so he could catch up with them.

Slowing to a trot, he fell into step with Wirt. He looked up at him expectantly, waiting for a reprimand for not keeping up. But he didn’t get one. Greg frowned and kicked at Wirt’s foot for his attention. His brother tripped, falling face first to the floor when he couldn’t catch himself and sending Greg skidding on his back a bit when he’d stepped in front of him to try and catch him instead. At least Jason Funderburker hadn’t been crushed.

Wirt blinked, extremely confused by how exactly he’d ended up splayed out on the floor of the airport, and Greg ducked his head sheepishly. He watched him put the pieces together and slowly narrow his eyes at him. Opening his mouth to apologize, because he certainly hadn’t meant to make his overly clumsy brother trip, he was beaten to the punch by a disappointed drawl.

“Wirt, what are you doing? Get off the floor. You don’t know who’s walked on this,” Mort sneered. “You’re almost sixteen years old. Start acting like it.”

All the color washed right out of Wirt’s face as he scrambled to his feet. “Sorry. I- I tripped and-”

“Always tripping over your own feet. You need to stop scuffing your shoes on the ground, that’s what does it. All that fidgeting you do.” It was Mort’s turn for his gaze to narrow as Wirt took that moment to fidget nervously. “Stop that.”

“He can do what he wants,” Greg blurted out, standing up straight beside Wirt, though he did lower his shoulders a bit when the firm stare was turned onto him. “I mean, it’s not that big a deal. It’s not like it’s hurting anybody. And it was my fault he fell. I got in his way. I’m sorry.”

Humming gruffly, Mort accepted this and nodded. “Be more careful,” he advised. “And keep up. Even though we don’t have to board for another thirty minutes, I’d like for us to get settled so we can check the status of the flight and be ready to get in line. Understand?”

“Yes,” both Wirt and Greg answered.

Satisfied with their response, Mort continued walking. Right past a Cinnabon, too. Greg pouted, reluctantly trailing after the man. His hand was immediately snatched though. Glancing over his shoulder, he tilted his head at Wirt curiously.

His brother glanced to the cinnamon roll kiosk knowingly, a small smile pulling at him lips. “We’ll come back and get one after we get to our terminal. Promise.”

Greg lit up, perfectly alright with this turn of events. “Okay,” he agreed.

Wirt made good on his promise after the three of them claimed a set of seats by the big windows overlooking the runway. Even though Greg had flown before, it was still exciting to see all the planes sitting right outside the windows. He pressed his face against the glass, content to watch them while his brother left him with his dad to go get their cinnamon rolls.

It was a good chance to observe Mort Palmer one-on-one and gain some intel for Dipper and Mabel. Glancing at the man’s reflection in the glass, Greg watched him thumb through his phone. It was a pretty nice looking phone and went along with his pretty nice looking clothes. Even though they were just going on an airplane, he was wearing nice slacks, loafers, a button-front shirt with a collar and a sharply pressed, navy blazer. It sort of reminded him of the nice way Wirt tended to dress, except where his brother looked cozy and a little disheveled, this man looked untouchable.

His lips turned down as he read something on his phone, then started to type something. That was pretty boring, so Greg took to watching a plane in the sky that was coming in for a landing. Landings and take-offs were the best parts of flying, he remembered that well.

When the plane disappeared, heading somewhere else for its terminal, Greg glanced at Mort again. He was still typing. Greg moved away from the window, climbing into the seat he’d placed his backpack on.

“What are you typing?” he asked.

“An email,” Mort responded.

“An email for what?”

“Work.”

Greg puffed up his cheeks, brow furrowing. Mort seemed awfully fond of one-word answers. He kicked his feet back and forth, watching him curiously, but the man paid him no mind. When he finished answering his email, he closed out of it and went to check a different one.

“What kind of work do you do?” Greg continued to try and piece together more of the puzzle that was his brother’s dad.

The man didn’t answer, but that was okay because a box with a fresh cinnamon roll was being handed to him by his brother. “He’s an architect,” Wirt told him, taking his seat in between them, taking out his own phone once he was settled. “He works for a firm in New York and designs commercial buildings. You know, like things for businesses.”

“Oh.” Greg nodded with understanding, then leaned forward to look at Mort. “Hey, Mr. Palmer. Wirt designs buildings and stuff, too! Well, mostly rooms and furniture and things like that, but it’s still really cool!”

“Interior design is very different from the kind of work I do,” Mort replied without looking up from his phone.

Greg blinked, glancing from him to Wirt as his brother stiffened mid-text. “Oh…”

“But it is an important aspect in the aesthetic of the overall design,” the man continued, finally turning off his phone and pocketing it for the time being, focusing on Wirt. “You’re interested in interior design?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded. “Yeah. Have been for a while now, I guess. I’ve uh… I’ve read all the books that you left and the ones focusing on interior design were really interesting.”

“Right. I do remember leaving some behind. I always thought your mother sold them when the two of you moved,” he mused.

Wirt shook his head. “No, I uh… I still have them.”

Mort offered him a smile. “I have other books that are more current that I can send you if you’d like. I know I have a couple of reference books on Art Nouveau that might appeal to you.”

“Yeah! I mean, sure, that’d be great.” Wirt’s face lit up and Greg beamed along with him. “I really like Art Nouveau.”

“I’m partial to it as well, though I have to say there is something about classic, European designs that resonates with me more. It’s versatile. It can assimilate well in practically any environment.” Mort paused, studying Wirt as he nodded enthusiastically. “What style is your favorite?”

“Oh gosh. I don’t know. I guess I really like French? The ornate, fanciful stuff and the country design, too, with the wooden beams, all rustic and old-world. They both appeal to me. It’s why I’m so excited to be going to France. I can’t wait to actually see the architecture up close instead of just in pictures or in movies, you know?”

Mort nodded. “The architecture is certainly one of a kind. We may not be able to see everything, but we can get a good look at the big ones. I’m assuming you want to see the Eiffel Tower, of course?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. I have a whole list and marked them all down on a map to see what’s closest and what we could combine into a day to make the most of the trip. We don’t have to see all of them, but I know I really want to see La Sainte-Chapelle and Notre-Dame. Not to mention the Louvre and d’Orsay and Palais Garnier.”

“I think we can definitely arrange to see all of that and more,” Mort confirmed. “We’ll go over your list and map when we arrive at the hotel.”

Wirt was nearly bouncing in his seat and Greg had to stifle a giggle. His big brother was so excited! Pleased with the work he’d done so far, Greg rewarded himself with a big bite of his cinnamon roll while Wirt finished his text to Dipper. Oh, this was going to work out just great.

 

\----

 

Since Greg’s ticket had been purchased way after Wirt and Mort’s, his seat was two rows behind them. He didn’t have to sit in it though. Mort took it since he was an adult and could sit bit himself, allowing the two brothers to sit together.

“Want the window seat?” Wirt asked him when they arrived at their row on the plane.

He did, but this was Wirt’s special birthday trip. “Mm-mm.” He shook his head. “You go in first, brother o’ mine!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! You should get to see Paris when we land! Besides, I can just sit on your lap if I want to see anything good,” he reasoned.

Wirt laughed. “Fair enough.”

Neither of them put their bags in the overhead bin, deigning to shove them under the seats in front of them. There were little TV screens on the back of each seat and Greg excitedly flipped through them. There hadn’t been TVs on the flight they took to Canada. This was serious luxury. He lit up when Wirt untangled two pairs of headphones from his carry-on, taking the smaller set for himself.

“How long’s the flight?” he asked.

“Seven hours,” Wirt replied, taking the time to text a poem to Dipper, from what Greg could read over his shoulder. _‘I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,/Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes;/I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,/I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.’ I’ll miss you. Be thinking of you every day. Have a good week <3_ “Think you can handle it?”

“Please,” Greg scoffed. “Seven hours is nothing when you’ve got free TV in front of you! Wait. Are they gonna feed us?”

“Greg, you just ate a cinnamon roll and then half of mine,” Wirt snorted. “How are you thinking of food now?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean feed us now. I mean feed us later,” he told him matter-of-factly. “I’m thinking ahead. Planning our future.”

“Oh, okay. Yes, Greg. They’ll feed us.” Wirt ruffled his hair. “Put your seatbelt on. And you should really try to sleep for most of the flight. When we get to Paris, it’s going to be tomorrow morning.”

Greg’s brow furrowed as he did as his brother asked, snapping the belt into the console. “But you just said the flight’s seven hours. In seven hours it’ll be night.”

“There’s a time difference though, between us and France. We’re losing the entire night, but we’ll gain it back on the flight home,” Wirt assured him. “But since we’re going to be doing stuff when we arrive tomorrow, you’ll need to have slept a bit. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises,” Greg answered honestly.

Wirt pursed his lips, then nodded. “Good enough for me.”

Greg watched him wait a beat, then reluctantly turned off his phone and pocketed it even though he couldn’t use it. Before they took off, Greg checked on Jason Funderburker. The frog appeared pleased, happy to be toasty warm on the cold plane. He winked at him, so Greg winked back. The stewardess began the presentation of all the safety items that he only half paid attention to. Wirt wasn’t paying attention either, staring out the window with his notebook in his lap. Greg sat up a bit and looked back for his brother’s dad and found him to be deeply engrossed in a book of his own.

When the plane started to move, Wirt glanced up from where he’d been idly tracing Dipper’s name over and over on the page to check out the window, then turned to smile at him. “Ready for take-off?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, captain!” Greg grinned.

Wirt saved his page with his pencil, then rifled around in his bag a bit. He pulled out a packet of gum and offered him a silver wrapped stick. Before Greg took it, Wirt gave him a warning look.

“This is for when you need to pop your ears,” he told him. “Don’t try to throw it on the ceiling or at the stewardess or in your hair or in _my_ hair. Just keep it in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, even though that didn’t sound like much fun, and Wirt handed him the gum. “Are you feeling better about the trip?” he asked while he still had his brother’s attention.

Wirt shrugged, setting aside his own stick so he could put the package away. “I think so?”

“You and your dad were getting along pretty well earlier. I think if you just keep talking about architecture, you’ll both stay happy.” Greg put in his two cents.

A laugh slipped out of him. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You just gotta keep positive, Wirt.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised as their plane lined up on the runway.

They sped up, Greg all but bouncing in his seat as he beamed at Wirt. Both of them turned their attention out the window, watching as the world tilted. Wirt made a pleased, little gasp while Greg laughed right out as the rollercoaster feeling swelled in his stomach.

“No turning back now,” Wirt mused.

“Onwards and upwards!” Greg chirped.

 

\----

 

In the cab ride through Paris from the airport to their hotel, Wirt gaped in awe in entire time. It was kind of funny, Greg thought to himself as he glanced around, too. All the buildings looked really nice and so big. Much bigger than Boston, which was the biggest city he’d been to so far in his young life. He knew Wirt had been to New York, but from the look on his face, that couldn’t even compare to this.

Their hotel was huge, right in the city center, Greg was told. The lobby was polished so nicely, he could see his reflection in the smooth floor. There were chandeliers dripping with crystals hanging from the ceiling and Greg couldn’t help but be reminded of the giant chandelier in Beauty and the Beast and wondered if the hotel made them look that way because of the movie.

When he asked Wirt that, his big brother just laughed and ruffled his hair. “Maybe.”

“The Four Seasons Hotel George V was built in 1928, so no, Gregory. If anything, the movie took inspiration from traditional, French design,” Mort told him before leading them to the concierge desk.

Greg pulled down the collar of his sweatshirt so Jason Funderburker could see some of the luxurious lobby. He croaked his appreciation, catching Wirt’s attention, and his older brother smacked himself in the forehead at the sight of their frog. Well, he should’ve known that he wouldn’t leave their lucky frog behind! They definitely needed all the good luck they could get to make sure Wirt had the best sixteenth birthday ever.

“Just make sure no one sees him until we get to our room, okay?” Wirt hissed.

They couldn’t check into their room right away because it was too early, but the hotel took their luggage and stored it so they could do a bit of sight-seeing while they waited. Since they both napped on the plane, Wirt and Greg were eager to get out and see a bit of the city. It was only nine-thirty in the morning in Paris, and they had the whole day ahead of them!

“I know a great place for breakfast,” Mort told the boys as he led the way out of the opulent lobby. “It’s on the way to Notre-Dame and La Sainte-Chapelle.”

That got Wirt moving, grabbing Greg’s hand to make sure he didn’t fall behind this time.

Breakfast had been a bit strange – not at all like the kind of breakfast Greg was used to – and he was surprised to find that French toast wasn’t on the menu. “It’s called _pain perdu_ here,” Wirt told him, helping to translate the menu for him. “Is that what you want?”

“You can have French toast anywhere in the states,” Mort scoffed, making the boys look up. “We’ll stick with a traditional French breakfast. It’ll be a good experience for you.”

Wirt pursed his lips, his brow creasing as if he wanted to argue, but Greg gave him a pat on his knee. “I like trying new things,” he replied.

Cheese for breakfast was definitely a new thing, especially cheese that Greg didn’t even know the names of. Wirt didn’t either, but he did quick taste tests to find which ones he figured his palate could handle, then set those aside for him. It was funny to see Wirt eat a cheese he didn’t like. His nose would scrunch and his lips would get small and pinched and it took him a while to swallow.

Greg took a picture of one of those faces with Wirt’s camera and his older brother furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Dipper likes when your face gets scrunchy, right? Now he’ll get to see what it looked like in Paris,” he giggled.

“Oh my gosh. Don’t waste the memory taking pictures of me, there are so many other, more important things we should be taking pictures of.”

Greg grinned. “Dipper won’t think so.”

“I’m sorry, you know someone whose name is ‘Dipper?’” Mort narrowed his gaze at them.

“Oh, it’s not his real name, but it’s basically his real name,” Greg explained while Wirt straightened in his chair, watching his dad warily.

“I see. Is he a friend of yours, Wirt?” Mort inquired, sort of sounding interested. Greg couldn’t really tell.

Wirt cleared his throat. “Y-yeah. He’s- ah… he’s sort of- well, not ‘sort of,’ I don’t know why I said ‘sort of’ but-”

“ _Wirt_.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” he blurted quickly, pale instead of blushing.

Mort lifted an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes.” Wirt’s shoulders were stiff, uncertainty pouring off him in waves.

“Huh.” With a hum and a shrug, his dad seemed to accept it. “I didn’t know you’d started dating.”

Wirt visibly sagged in his seat. “Y-yeah,” he croaked out. “We’ve been together… about two months now.”

“Well, good for you.” And that was that, breakfast continued.

They also had bread, toast, and jam – marmalade for Wirt – which was pretty normal, along with something called _pain beignet_ that was pretty much a ball of fried dough coated in powdered sugar. Wirt’s dad nibbled on a croissant, his breakfast being his coffee – or _café au lait_ – as he kept calling it. Wirt had a cup of tea and Greg had hot chocolate, but when his brother didn’t really like his tea, Greg shared his drink with him. Wirt forgot to ask for his tea with milk and was too shy to speak up and ask for some after their food was brought to them. In return, his brother helped him sneak food to Jason Funderburker when no one was looking.

“I could eat cheese and sugar for breakfast every day!” Greg announced as they headed towards the two cathedrals.

“I don’t doubt that.” Wirt grinned, back to much lighter spirits with the weight of their brief breakfast conversation of his shoulders. He’d honestly had no idea what to expect, opening up to his dad like that, but it certainly eased his heart a considerable amount.

While looking at the two cathedrals wasn’t the most exciting thing Greg had ever done, it was nice to see Wirt so entranced by it. He made sure not to wander off, not wanting to ruin this experience for his brother by making him worry, and listened to him and Mort talk about the history behind both buildings and the differences in architecture.

At Notre-Dame they went on a tour and Greg wanted to see the bell tower, to see if he could spy a hunchback, so they did that as well. With all the steps they had to climb to get up there, though, Wirt ended up having to carry him part of the way. There wasn’t any hunchback, but it was still one of the more exciting parts of the cathedral and Greg adored the gargoyles statues that were up there. Then they went down to the crypts, in case there were any ghosts. Greg was surprised that Wirt wasn’t even scared, more interested in seeing the exhibition and the archaeological remains than frightened by the prospect of ghosts. There were no ghosts anyway, but he and Wirt pretended to be like Indiana Jones, discovering the remains of a hidden city, wishing Dipper and Mabel were there to share in the excitement. They both knew that the twins would’ve loved it.

They went on a tour of La Sainte-Chapelle, too. Wirt appreciated the architecture there more, but agreed with Greg that Notre-Dame had been more fun. Still, he’d enjoyed both places and couldn’t stop thanking his dad during the entire cab ride back to the hotel.

“It really is something in person, isn’t it?” Mort chuckled, and Greg hadn’t even realized the man could make a sound like a laugh until he did.

“Oh my gosh, is it!” Wirt grinned. “Dad, just- just thank you. So much. This is already incredible and it’s just the first day!”

“Yeah!” Greg chimed in. “Thank you, Mr. Palmer!”

Mort clapped his hand on Wirt’s shoulder and gave him a light squeeze. “It’s my pleasure, son. I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”

When Mort turned away to look out the window, Wirt turned his attention to Greg with the happiest, teary-eyed smile he’d ever seen on his big brother’s face. Greg almost wanted to cry, too, if crying was something he did, and he squeezed Wirt’s hand tightly as he grinned right back at him. His brother deserved to have happy memories with his dad to replace the bad ones.

Once they were back at the hotel, they were able to check in and take their bags upstairs. Greg whooped at the sheer size of their room. It was like their own, mini house! There was a living room with a dining area and a desk and a small kitchen space, then two bedrooms on either side of the main living area with their own bathrooms. Everything was just as fancy as the lobby downstairs, in soft shades of blues and golds. He immediately jumped on the couch while Wirt stared dumbly at the suite.

“We’re seriously staying here?” He blinked at his dad while the man moved his suitcase into one of the rooms.

“We are,” Mort replied, then gestured to the bedroom across the way. “You and Greg are in there. There’s only the one bed, but it’s a king, so that shouldn’t be an issue, though if it is, you can have him sleep on the couch out here. He seems to like it well-enough.”

They both looked at him sprawled out on it and he waved. “This is the best couch ever,” he told them.

Wirt turned back to Mort. “A king is fine, I mean, we’ve had to share smaller beds before, so it won’t be a problem.”

“It will if you hog all the covers like a cover hog!” Greg pointed out.

“What? I’m not the cover hog, _you’re_ the cover hog.”

“You’re the one who snorts in your sleep like a pig,” he giggled, then immediately jumped off the couch and ran to hide under the table when his brother gave chase.

He was too slow though, Wirt grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him out before he could get a good grip on the legs of the table or chairs. Attempting to kick free, Greg wiggled and laughed when Wirt shifted his grip so he had him around the middle. Jason Funderburker hopped out of his sweatshirt and darted for cover under the bed in their room while Wirt carried him in after him and dropped him onto the bed.

“I was kidding! You don’t! You’re quiet and you don’t make any noise but you still steal all the blankets!” Greg giggled, shoving away Wirt’s hands when he tried to pin him.

“I don’t think that’s a good enough apology,” he mused, digging his fingers into Greg’s sides. “I think you can do better.”

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! You’re the best brother to share a bed with!” He accidentally kneed Wirt in the gut, but that’s what he got for trying to tickle him. “Whoops.”

Wirt clutched his stomach and at first Greg worried that he’d seriously hurt him when he didn’t snap at him, but then he dropped to his knees and groaned like a dying Shakespeare character before flopping on the floor. Greg rolled his eyes. And his parents called _him_ dramatic.

“Wirt, get off the floor.” Mort shook his head, then disappeared into his section of the room.

“Yeah, Wirt.” Greg hopped down, straddling his brother’s stomach and putting all his weight on it so he coughed and stopped pretending to be boneless. “Get off the floor.”

“Struck down by the harsh words of mine own blood, I lay a crumbled wretch and wonder at fate’s design to saddle me with such contempt,” Wirt made up on the spot, then gasped out a startled laugh when Greg started to tickle him back. “No! No, we have a truce. Truce.”

“Truce,” Greg agreed, rolling off him to lie next to him on the floor. “Hey, this carpet’s really soft!”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t get up right away,” Wirt chuckled.

“We could just sleep here.”

“We could.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Okay.”

“Wirt, start unpacking. Instead of lunch today we’re going to head downstairs for afternoon tea. It’s one of the highlights this hotel offers,” Mort called out to them.

Wirt lifted his head. “Okay, Dad.”

Greg made a face. “I don’t like tea.”

“Maybe they have hot chocolate, like they did at breakfast.” Wirt shrugged, then got to his feet. “Come on, let’s get settled in.”

After they unpacked, they all changed clothes even though it was the afternoon since they’d been wearing the same clothes since they left for the airplane the day before. Wirt even made himself look a bit spiffier than usual, though he still didn’t look as harsh and sterile as his dad. Greg just pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

At three o’clock, afternoon tea was served. Mort explained that it wasn’t as formal an affair here as high tea was in London, for example, but it was still an event. They did have hot chocolate available to drink in lieu of tea, so Greg happily chose that instead. He was pleased to note that Wirt seemed to like the tea he had here much better, sipping at it calmly as he took in his surroundings. Ornate tapestries were draped along the walls, a red theme threaded throughout. Old, fancy paintings in large frames gazed around the room, the painted eyes of painted people observing the guests. Greg knew it appealed to his poetic sensibilities somehow, even if he didn’t really understand how. There was a pianist in the room that captured the younger boy’s attention though. Even if the music was a bit slow for his taste, it was very pretty and he found himself tapping along to the beat.

“So, um… Dad? What’s the plan for the rest of the day?” Wirt asked, fidgeting a little in his seat, hands clasped in his lap.

Mort sipped at his tea. “Well, I figured we could do one of two things. We could either take it easy and recuperate in the room, or we could take a walk through the city and see the Eiffel Tower. It’s not a far walk from here it all. But it depends on how you two are feeling.”

“I feel fine!” Wirt blurted eagerly, then looked to Greg. “How about you?”

“I’m always up for an adventure!” Greg chirped and his brother flashed him a big smile.

“That settles it then.” He relaxed in his seat, then turned his smile to Mort. “We’ll see the Eiffel Tower.”

“Alright.” Mort nodded. “Then we can come back here for dinner and spend the rest of the evening in the room to adjust to the time.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Me too!”

 

\----

 

The Eiffel Tower had been amazing. Greg couldn’t believe something could be so tall. He and Wirt had taken a bunch of pictures, and Greg even snapped one of Mort and Wirt together so they could have a father-son picture. They’d been taking pictures all day, almost as many as Mabel tended to do, under strict instructions to get as many scrapbookortunities as possible. Even though they were both getting pretty tired, the two brothers had no problem doing just that.

Mort didn’t seem to share in their amusement though. When he caught them being silly and told Wirt to behave, the older brother instantly silenced himself, retreating into himself like he didn’t want to be seen or heard. Like he didn’t want to bother anyone. When the two of the started talking again, about school and other things Wirt was interested in and how work was going for Mort, Wirt did relax a bit, but the shift in behavior was something that struck Greg and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

While getting along with his dad was a great thing and made him really happy, every time his dad gave him a certain look it seemed to set him back about ten spaces with no option to roll again. “How come your dad scares you sometimes?” Greg asked that night as they settled into bed, their door open to the living room, but Mort’s closed to them.

“He…” Wirt’s brow furrowed as he thought about it, propped up against the cushioned headboard with a poetry book open in his lap. “He doesn’t scare me, necessarily. I don’t think that’s the right word. I guess part of me just doesn’t want to disappoint him and it’s hard to control that part sometimes. I think… I think we’re getting better though? Maybe he’s just not good with kids. Maybe, as I become more of an adult, we’ll be able to actually… talk. Talk more like we have been, you know?”

“I think so?” Greg squinted, petting Jason Funderburker’s back. “I don’t know… all I know is that you and Mom were right. Your dad and my dad are two very different kinds of dads. I don’t know how to deal with your dad at all. He seems so grumpy all the time.”

“Yeah, well. That’s Dad for you.”

Greg rolled onto his side to observe Wirt. “Are you happy that you decided to come after all?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I really am. Mom was right. It was time to give him a chance. And I’m glad I did. I think this week will really make a difference.”

“Me too.” Greg yawned, even though it was only eight o’clock in Paris. “Goodnight, Wirt.”

“Goodnight, Greg.”

“Happy almost birthday,” he added, closing his eyes. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“We’ll have to get you some cake.”

“We’ll see about that.”


	2. Chapter 1

Even though he wasn’t a morning person, Wirt was up before eight of his own volition. Bright-eyed and eager, he couldn’t have rolled over and nestled into his nest of sheets even if he’d wanted to. He was showered and dressed by the time Greg blinked at the light of day streaming in through the window as his brother admired the view. They did have a nice view of buildings from their hotel room.

As soon as Greg realized it was morning, he sat straight up in bed, completely awake. “Happy Birthday, Wirt!”

“Thanks, Greg!” Wirt accepted the bouncing-flying hug that he gave him, then spun him around the room. His grin was bright, almost as bright as it had been most of the time the twins had stayed with them. He even gave Greg a kiss on the cheek before setting him down.  “Get dressed. I think Dad’s awake and I want to run the plans for today by him.”

“What plans?” he asked, darting to the dresser. “Are you gonna call Dipper?”

“I wish.” Wirt looked out the window wistfully, one hand curled in his music note sweater over his heart. “Unless Dad has some kind of long-distance phone card thing so that it won’t cost an arm and a leg, I’m going to have to go without hearing his voice. But we can probably sneak into the business center later today and shoot him an email.” The smile he flashed him was devious, as if they weren’t allowed to use the business center for things like emailing boyfriends.

“But first I was thinking we check out the Louvre and d’Orsay this morning and afternoon, then tonight I’d really like to head over to the opera house, Palais Garnier. I’m not sure if it’s like Broadway here where theatres are dark on Mondays, but I figure we can look it up and see if there are any tours today and we can try our luck,” Wirt babbled, his excitement palpable, nearly bouncing with it before he seemed to realize what he was doing and reigned it in with a shrug. “If not, then we can go another day this week. Really I just want to see the building in-person, I don’t even have to go inside.”

“Okay! Let’s try our best to make that happen, brother o’ mine!” Greg pumped his fists in the air. “Today’s your day!”

He dressed quickly while Wirt tried to tame his hair in the bathroom mirror. They both went to wait in the living room while Mort finished getting ready in his room. When he came out, the two of them were watching something animated in French and Wirt was doing his best to translate with the two years of high school French that he had under his belt. When he saw his dad, Wirt immediately hopped up and followed him to the kitchenette like an eager duckling or puppy while Greg stayed on the couch and listened.

“Good morning, Dad.”

“Morning, Wirt. You two are up pretty early. Good. I can let you know what the plan is.” Mort set the briefcase that carried his laptop in it near the door.

Greg’s brow furrowed and it didn’t escape Wirt’s notice either. Both brothers glanced at each other before Wirt shook it off and focused on Mort instead. “Right, about that. Do you think we’d be able to see the Louvre and the d’Orsay today? I mean, we could see them any day really, but I figured since today’s my actual birthday, it’d be cool to spend it there. If that’s okay with you.”

“I’m afraid that we won’t be able to go to the museums today, Wirt,” he replied, brewing a cup of coffee for himself.

Wirt scrunched his nose at the smell, but that wasn’t his biggest concern as his face fell. “Oh? Um… okay. Can I- can I ask why not?”

“I have a client that I’ll be in meetings with for most of the morning and late afternoon,” Mort explained. “I may or may not be back for lunch. I’ll have to check my schedule, but if that’s the case then you can order whatever you like from room service, then we’ll go out for a nice dinner when I get back.”

The silence that followed was heavy and thick. Greg could feel it pressing down around them, even as the noise from the television continued to fill the air. His brother had paused, his lips parted a little in surprise as he wrung his hands together.

“What… what do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I was pretty clear, Wirt. Pay attention and listen when I tell you the first time.” Wirt flinched at those words in particular, wide-eyed and hurt while his dad continued, “I’ll be meeting with a client today, tomorrow, and Wednesday, so that limits what we can do. We’ll see the museums on Thursday. But I know that today’s your birthday so I made time for us to have dinner together tonight. I was able to push back the company dinner to tomorrow, which was a pain, let me tell you, but when you insisted on doing something for your birthday, I didn’t really have a choice. Luckily the people I’ll be speaking with have families and were able to understand. Bringing you along actually worked in my favor, so there is that.”

“Company…? Client- is this-? Is this a _business_ trip?” Wirt blinked at him, chest tight and grip on his own hands tighter.

“Don’t stutter, Wirt,” Mort reprimanded, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s embarrassing. No one will take you seriously if you can’t get a single word out of your mouth.”

“I- I’m not stuttering. I’m just- I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.” Wirt raked his fingers through his hair, the enthusiasm that had colored his cheeks paling drastically. “Is this a business trip?”

“Yes.” Mort nodded. “I just told you that. Wirt, stop getting so caught up in your own thoughts. It’s ridiculous how little you pay attention to everything going on around you.”

“This… this is a business trip…” He was still fixated on that, not hearing the reprimand this time. “Was it… was it something you arranged after- after we planned this?” Wirt asked, and the hope that filled his brother’s eyes made Greg’s heart clench tightly as he chewed on his lower lip. “Like, since you’re in Paris and some business has to be done, you might as well do it while you’re here?”

Mort raised an eyebrow. “No, Wirt. This was a business trip arranged by my firm months ago. We’ve been dealing with this particular group for a while now and we’ve set aside this time to go over some preliminary plans and scout the location. I’ll be coming back in October as well to finish- what?”

“Wirt?” Greg muted the television, then slid off the couch.

Wirt’s lips were pressed together tightly, his brow furrowed in an attempt to look stern or angry or something other than broken, but the shine of tears in his eyes spoke volumes. “So… what is this then? Bringing me here?”

“What are you so upset for?” Mort rolled his eyes. “God. You’re here, aren’t you? You get to see Paris. What more do you want? I mean, honestly, Wirt. I thought you’d be sensible enough to realize that a trip to Paris just for your sixteenth birthday is completely unreasonable. You think I arranged all this? For _you_?”

“I- but- I- _yes_!” Wirt clenched his fists. “Yeah, I did actually!”

“Don’t start this. Do you know how ungrateful you sound right now?” Mort turned to the sink and dumped out the rest of his coffee before brushing past Wirt. “I didn’t have to bring you here. You asked if we could do something for your birthday and this was already planned. I wasn’t going to drop everything just for you, but I thought I’d give it a chance and bring you along. I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“I didn’t want anything! I didn’t ask for some grand gesture or fancy treatment, I just wanted you to-” Wirt stopped himself, swallowing thickly before continuing. “I just wanted you to want to spend time with me. I thought that’s what this was.”

“You always do this. Why do you always do this? Make me seem like the bad guy when you’re the one getting in the way and ruining people’s plans and making things difficult when they don’t have to be. Just like with the divorce.”

Wirt paled so quickly Greg thought he was going to pass out right there. “That wasn’t my fault,” he whispered.

“ _What_? Of course it was your fault, Wirt! What, did you think your mother and I were arguing about every stupid little detail for the heck of it? We had a great life before you! All our arguments were about you! You were at the center of it all. The divorce was entirely because of you. Maybe if you had just been an easy child to deal with things could’ve been different. You were always too sensitive. Demanding my attention constantly.” Mort rolled his eyes. “Thought you would’ve grown out of _that_ at least.”

“I wasn’t- I’m not-” Wirt’s breath hitched and he blinked rapidly. “I’m-”

“For god’s sake, stop stammering!”

“I- I- I’m not!”

“Y-y-yes you are! My god, how does Amelia put up with you still?” Mort shook his head. “Guess she can’t exactly walk out on you though, can she? Not that I’d blame anyone who did. How you’ve even managed to stay in a relationship for two months is beyond me.”

Wirt visibly flinched, reminded too easily of a hurt that still stung even though he tried not to let it. He hadn’t been walked out on, Dipper hadn’t left him with the intention of actually leaving him. He’d been upset. And Greg hadn’t left him in The Unknown because he realized he had an awful brother. It wasn’t what his dad was talking about. It wasn’t the same thing.

“P-people can put up with- with me-” he forced out, trying so hard to believe it.

Mort scoffed. “Not likely. You create problems wherever you go. Which makes sense since you _being_ created was a problem in and of itself. It ruined my life, and now look where we are. Celebrating the day you came into the world and sucked all the life out of mine.”

Wirt gasped and his lip quivered. “You know, you didn’t have to have me!” he blurted.

“You don’t think I tried to convince your mother not to?” he fired back. “I told her I wasn’t ready!”

“Why did you even agree to see me? Why did you offer to bring me here?” Wirt croaked out.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought maybe at sixteen you’d be more bearable to be around than at six, but apparently not. I’m sorry this didn’t meet your expectations, but you never met any of mine either so I suppose we’re even.” Mort hefted up his briefcase and straightened his tie, then opened the door and stepped out.

He shut the door. Greg couldn’t look away from it, dumbfounded by the cold, impersonal way Mort had spoken to his own son, the cruel, hateful words. When the man didn’t come back immediately with an apology on his lips, his gaze slowly shifted from the door to his brother. Wirt was stiff, his shoulders hunched up and tense as his chin trembled and his eyes filled with tears. Not one spilled over as he stood there, but Greg wasn’t sure if he was even breathing, so he took a tentative step towards him. It reminded him of the day he’d found him in the living room staring at the open front door. _He’s gone. He left me, Greg. He left me._

He’d been left again. “Wirt?” Greg asked softly, but he didn’t look at him. “Wirt, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay-”

When he touched his hand, as light as it was, Wirt flinched away and broke. A harsh sob was pulled from his chest, then another, then another. Greg’s breath hitched as his brother covered his face, backing out of the main room and into their shared bedroom of the hotel suite. He followed on his heels, climbing onto the bed when Wirt slumped on the edge.

“Wirt?” Greg didn’t know what to do. “Wirt, breathe.”

“I can’t- I can’t-!” he gasped, dragging his fingers through his hair that he’d spent so long trying to make look nice. “Why did this-? How-?”

“Wirt, it’s okay.” He inched over to him on the bed, noticing that Jason Funderburker hopped over as well, his concern evident.   

“I can’t believe I actually thought…” Wirt looked at him and pressed his lips together as his chin quivered, and Greg watched as the tears finally spilled over. “It was stupid. I should’ve known that he wouldn’t actually- I can’t believe I thought this _meant_ something!”

His shoulders shook and his breathing was panicked. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed, curling up on the hotel bed in the smallest ball his body could manage. It made Greg feel like crying, too.

“I’m sorry, Wirt,” he told him, fists balled up at his sides as he wracked his brain for some idea of what to do, how to help him. “Don’t cry.”

Greg placed his palm on his back, rubbing gently but Wirt jerked away. “Leave me alone!”

“But Wirt-”

“Go _away_ , Greg! I just want- I just want to be alone, okay? Please, just leave me alone!”

“Okay,” Greg replied quietly, crawling off the bed. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone.”

Another broken sound was all he received as a reply. Greg grabbed their frog, since being alone probably meant no frogs either, and carried him into the living room. He set him down on the couch, then turned to go back and ask if Wirt wanted to door shut or not. Just as he faced it, it slammed shut and he heard the lock click followed by a frustrated cry.

Greg sniffled, tears starting to pool in his eyes. How had this gone so wrong so fast? Wirt had been so happy and then…

He closed his eyes against the devastated sounds Wirt was making on the other side of the hotel door. The same sounds Dipper had inspired when Wirt thought Dipper didn’t want him anymore. The heartbroken sounds. His dad had broken his heart. Greg hadn’t been able to protect him from that. He hadn’t been able to take care of him, the way he’d promised Dipper, the way he was supposed to as Wirt’s brother.

“Wirt, please let me in!” Greg ran up to the door, trying the handle and knocking on it incessantly. “Wirt, please! I want to help!”

But Wirt didn’t open the door. When Greg pressed his ear against it, he could hear that he was muffling his crying with something. Like a pillow maybe. Swallowing thickly, dragging his teeth over his lower lip, Greg debated what to do.

Broken hearts were serious business, and he knew of only one way to fix them, but…

Would Dipper know what to do? He’d made him cry once, after all, and even though he’d apologized and promised not to do it again, was he the best person to help his brother? Greg thought of the wistful look in Wirt’s eyes when he thought of Dipper, the way he’d babbled nonstop in the catacombs of Notre Dame about how much Dipper would love this or what he’d have to say about that or wouldn’t it be awesome to go exploring down there with Dipper?

Dipper made Wirt feel special. Dipper made him feel like he mattered, like he was important. All things his dad ripped right from under him in a single tug. Decision made, he knew what to do.

Greg ran over to the phone on the end table by the couch, cradling it to his ear as he struggled to remember how to call long-distance. He punched in the number that he’d memorized from Wirt’s phone, then listened to it ring. He hadn’t even considered the time difference, forgetting that France and California were two very different time zones.

It was a little before midnight in Piedmont, California where it was a few minutes to eight in the morning for Greg and Wirt, but that didn’t stop the other line from picking up.

“Dipper? It’s me, Greg. I’m using the hotel phone,” he explained to him, toying with the spiral cord. “Remember how you made me promise to take care of Wirt and make him call you if he’s freaking out? Well… he’s really upset and he locked himself in our room like that time you made him cry and he won’t come out. I think his heart’s broken again and I don’t know how to fix it,” he sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

In California, Dipper rubbed a hand over his face as his mind switched gears from calculus to the unexpected voice on the other end. He almost hadn’t answered, but with his boyfriend in freaking _Paris_ the long-distance number had been worth a chance.

As the words clicked, he straightened and let his pen drop. “Wait, what? His heart’s bro- What? What’s going on, Greg? What happened?”

“Before we left, Mom told Wirt’s dad that the last thing he needed was for his heart to be broken again and that he won’t get past that again, but he did it anyway, Dipper. This isn’t a birthday trip. It’s a business trip.” Greg glanced over at the door to their room. “Mr. Palmer was coming here with or without Wirt.”

“Are you _kidding_ me? Why would-?” Dipper’s feet slid off his desk so he could hop up and begin pacing. “Let me talk to him.”

“Okay. I’ll try and get him to open the door again.” Greg took the phone with him, dragging the receiver and cradle across the floor. He knocked loudly. “Wirt? Wirt, I called Dipper, he wants to talk to you!”

“Greg, I said leave me alone!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say for Dipper to leave you alone!” he called back through the door, cringing a little when whatever had been muffling his brother’s crying fell away.

“I don’t want to talk to _anyone_ , okay? I just want to be alone! I want-! I don’t… just go away!”

Greg tried the door handle again. “Wirt, please unlock the door.” He waited for a minute and when he didn’t, he spoke for Dipper’s benefit. “He’s not opening the door. What do I do now? I think I just made him worse.”

Though muffled considerably, just the fact that he could hear Wirt’s sobbing at all shattered him. It hadn’t been too long since they’d last seen one another, but when he had, Wirt had been looking forward to the trip. Sort of. It had been a little difficult to tell with Wirt’s mood swinging upwards about it one moment and then stressing over it the next.

But he’d been thrilled enough to text him when he’d been told that Greg could go as well. The twins had both been relieved at that news, neither wanting Wirt to be on his own. They didn’t know anything about Mort Palmer, Dipper unwilling to push him on the subject when even Greg hardly knew a thing. He’d never even met the man before.

Dipper dropped back to his computer, cradling his phone between his cheek and his shoulder. His calculus was shoved aside. It was going to be late, and that was that. He wouldn’t let Wirt’s father make him cry like that. Especially not on his birthday. “Do what he says for right now, okay? Give Jason Funderburker a hug and talk to me. What day are you guys getting on the plane to come home? Do you remember?”

“Friday.” Greg’s brow furrowed as his voice quivered a little, dragging the phone back to the couch and Jason Funderburker. “Why? What are you doing?”

“If Wirt won’t let me talk to him on the phone, he’s going to let me talk to him in person. We’re not letting his birthday get ruined.” Dipper pulled up flight information. There was one slotted to leave in just a couple of hours. There would be a layover in New York, but they would be in Paris that night. It wouldn’t give them much time, but it would still be Wirt’s birthday.

The price made him cringe a little, but they could make that back. He bought two coach tickets, nowhere near the other as it was such a last minute purchase, but it was necessary. Next time, though, he was using Pacifica’s jet. “Don’t cry, okay? We’ll be there today. In, like, ten to twelve hours, but we’ll be there.”

“But isn’t it a lot of money? Wirt said it was a lot of money.” Greg gave Jason Funderburker a pat on the head while he nibbled on his lower lip, part of him really wanting to see Dipper and Mabel, especially knowing that if anyone could make Wirt feel better, it would be Dipper. “And what about school? It’s Monday.”

Yeah, and his parents were going to be furious. The tickets were bought, though, and he sent them to the printer. “I can make up a week of school and so can Mabel. We can’t make up a sixteenth birthday.” His voice gentled a little. “Hey. Don’t you start crying too, okay? Wirt’s going to be fine. You know he won’t stay in his room all day, and we’ll be there as soon as possible. His dad may be on a business trip, but we won’t be.”

“The only business that should be happening is serious birthday business,” Greg agreed. “Okay, Dipper. I’m sorry I couldn’t make him feel better.”

“Greg...” Dipper sighed, getting back up to head to the room down the hall. “When dads... Sometimes dads screw up. Sometimes they’re just the worst, and that’s not something even an awesome little brother can fix. Trust me.”

“But you can? You can fix him? I’ve never heard him be this sad before, Dipper, except for when… you know… I just don’t want him to be broken forever.”

He didn’t think he could fix him, not really. Not all the way. “I... He won’t be broken forever, Greg. Listen, you’re really lucky. You’ve got an awesome dad. Wirt doesn’t, and... I don’t either. Not really. Things are better than they used to be, but it’s still... The point is, I understand what Wirt’s feeling. I can do that. I can be there, and I can pick that lock and make him cry on my shoulder instead of a pillow if he’s not out by the time we get there.

“Just have some faith in him, okay? He’s hurt, but you just be you. That’s important. Just wait for him and trust him to be okay.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dipper. Have a good flight. It’s long, but they’ll feed you.” Greg wiped at his eyes, puffing out his chest to be strong for his brother.

He laughed, pushing open the door to his twin’s bedroom and flipping on the light. Waddles oinked, hiding his face under the coverlet and Mabel whined sleepily. “Dipper, wha’ d’you waaaant?”

Dipper grinned, feeling a little mean as he thought of just how much this long distance call was going to be on that hotel bill. “Hey, Greg, you want to talk to Mabel?”

She rubbed her eyes, hair every which way as she sat up. “Greg? What-? Dipper, what’s wrong? What’s Greg want? Why is my light on, go to bed.”

“Yeah! Yeah, can I talk to Mabel? Please?”

“Sure thing. Tell her that we’re going to Paris, okay?”

“We’re going to Paris?!” she squeaked, pushing her hair back and snagging his phone when he tossed it. “Greg, what’s going on?”

“Wirt’s birthday trip didn’t end up being a birthday trip, it was actually a business trip and Mr. Palmer and Wirt were getting along really well yesterday, but then it was all ruined because Mr. Palmer said that he wouldn’t do something like this for Wirt on his own and then Wirt got upset and now he won’t stop crying,” Greg explained in one breath.

“Okay.” Shaken awake, Mabel struggled to wrap her mind around that. Wirt crying because of his dad. Because of his dad! Her eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh-oh. I guess we're going to Paris.”

A name that wasn't “Dipper Pines” was bellowed, and Mabel sighed. “So how are you doing, baby?”

“I’m okay. I just don’t want Wirt to be so sad and-” Greg’s brow furrowed and he kicked his legs back and forth. “I’m mad. At his dad. You should’ve heard him, Mabel! It was- it was like he didn’t care and he knew how much Wirt cared and he said it anyway.”

“Oh…” She rose to begin gathering clothes, closing her door to block out the argument as it reached peak volume. “It's okay to be mad, Greg. It's okay. You love Wirt, after all. Dipper's pretty mad too because he loves Wirt and doesn't want anyone to hurt him.”

“He’s his dad. He shouldn’t hurt him. I know Dipper said not all dads are like my dad, but… But Wirt really wanted his dad to like him and to want to be around him. He just wanted his dad to love him, too.” Greg glanced up at the door, the crying on the other side quieter now, but he knew that didn’t mean anything. Wirt was quiet, but just because he was quiet didn’t mean that he didn’t feel really strongly. “Wirt’s amazing and his dad should love him, but he just makes him feel like he’s nothing, Mabel.”

“Don't you worry, Greg. When we get there, he won't feel like nothing. We'll have some fun Paris adventures.” Her name was brought up in the argument, and she dragged a hand through her hair. Though she hated to do it, she had to end the call. “I've got to go, okay? My parents are calling me. You call if anything changes, okay?”

“Okay, I will. Bye, Mabel. I love you.”

“I love you too, Greg. Keep being your strong, sweet self. Bye!” She hung up and opened her bedroom door, squaring her shoulders in preparation to defend her brother. Oh, boy.

Greg sighed and placed the phone back in the cradle, then turned the volume back on the TV as he held Jason Funderburker in his lap. “It’s okay. Dipper and Mabel will help us save the day and give Wirt a good birthday.”

Wirt didn’t leave the bedroom all morning. Greg tried the knob a couple of times, but it stayed locked and his brother didn’t answer his calls. Even though he was mostly worried, he was also getting hungry and figured Wirt had to be, too. Lunch was fast approaching, and it had been a while since his brother had shut him out for this long a time. Greg nibbled on his lower lip as he kept an eye on the clock. He wasn’t sure when Dipper and Mabel would be arriving, but since his and Wirt’s flight had been so long before, he figured it would definitely be after lunch. But it would be today. Dipper said they’d be there for Wirt’s birthday.

When noon passed, with him debating what to do next, the door opened - not Wirt’s, but the one to outside - and Mort stepped in. He appeared surprised to see him, as if he didn’t expect Greg to be sitting on the couch still. _Well where else would I be?_ he thought huffily. Mort glanced around the room quickly.

“Where’s Wirt?” he asked, when he didn’t spy him right away.

Greg heard the bathroom door close beyond their bedroom door, then the water started running. “He’s in our room,” he replied coolly. “Why are you back? I thought you had clients to meet?”

Mort frowned at him, closing the door behind him. “I worked out some time so I could come back to have lunch with you. I’ve only got an hour, but we can grab something in one of the restaurants downstairs-”

“I don’t think Wirt and I are gonna go with you.”

He looked apologetic for a second, but then his eyes had narrowed and he crossed the room to bang his fist on the door. “Wirt! Come out here right now! You’re being childish!”

“Leave him alone! He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now!” Greg ran over to him, pulling him away from their bedroom. “Especially you! How could you say stuff like that to him? You’re supposed to be his dad! You’re supposed to love him and want to spend time with him!”

“Don’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel!” Mort whirled on him. “You’re a child! You know nothing of the history between Wirt, your mother, and myself!”

“I know Mom left you because you were a terrible dad and made Wirt feel terrible about himself all the time,” Greg retorted, hands on his hips.

“That boy’s excessive insecurities are his own doing! He’s always been like this! Insufferable, self-absorbed, inconsiderate of others’ time and the things they need to do-!”

“He is not! He’s really nice and super considerate and all he ever wants to do is be a better person for other people and doesn’t even see any of that in himself because you made him see only the bad things! The things he got from you!”

“Don’t talk to me like that, boy!”

“You’re not _my_ dad! I can talk to you however I want! You’re rude and selfish and all you like to do is hurt people and-!”

Greg didn’t even see it coming. There was a blur and then a loud smack. His cheek stung, throbbed, burned, a whole bunch of different kinds of pain that he couldn’t really made sense of, but it was the stinging that lingered. He gingerly touched his cheek. It was hot and even the lightest of brushes hurt. Greg stared up at Mort, the man gazing down at him, horrified.

He took a step back, then another, then turned on his heel and basically ran for his briefcase. “Order room service. Do whatever you want,” he muttered, unable to look at him as he fled out the door.

The hotel room was silent except for the water still running in the bathroom.

Greg’s face still hurt, but he couldn’t cry about it. He didn’t really know how to feel about it. All he knew was that he wanted Wirt, but he couldn’t have him, and he wanted Mabel, but he couldn’t have her either, and he wanted Dipper, but he wasn’t there, too. Without them, he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel.

So he focused on how Wirt was feeling. He knocked lightly on the bedroom door, pressing his ear against it. He could hear him a little over the water. Which meant he probably heard what his dad had been saying, too.

“Wirt?” he called out, and his voice sounded funny to his ears. “Wirt, he’s gone now. It’s okay.”

Wirt didn’t answer him, but the water stopped. He didn’t come out either, so after a while Greg shuffled back to the couch where Jason Funderburker immediately curled up in his lap. His face still hurt. He didn’t know what to do about that, so he watched TV.

He hoped Dipper and Mabel would get there soon.

 

\----

When Wirt was almost eight he visited his dad in New York for a week while his mom was on her honeymoon. He’d looked forward to it with childish innocence, a whole week of just the two of them after having gone so long without seeing him. He thought he could fix their relationship. He thought he could show his dad what a good son he could be and maybe he’d want him back.

Instead, he had dinner with this dad twice that week and was left alone in his Manhattan high-rise from seven in the morning until nine or ten at night. There had been no place for him to stay, just a leather couch with a spare set of sheets thrown over it, and there had been no pictures of him anywhere in the apartment. If a stranger walked in, they would have no idea that Mort Palmer had a son.

Wirt had cried every night, more lost and alone in a big bustling city full of people than he’d ever felt before. No one wanted him. No one cared. He’d promised himself then that after that trip to New York, he’d never let his dad make him cry like that again.

He wasn’t worth it.

Now, eight years later, he was crying again because of shattered expectations. Curled up on the bed, face pressed to a pillow, his sweater sleeve caught between his teeth as they ground against the woven wool, Wirt felt all the pain of his childhood self doubled. He felt hollow and full all at once, his body physically shuddering between the two pulling sensations. He wanted to be hollow, empty, nothing, but he also wanted to be washed away, drowned by the sheer enormity of his emotions.

How could he be so stupid? He knew better than to trust a man who couldn’t even call to check on him after he was hospitalized. He knew better than to hope that an actual bond could form between them. Yet there he’d gone and gave him that second chance, opened his stupid heart to him and actually felt like they were making progress. He actually felt like he _cared_.

But he didn’t. Mort Palmer was a selfish man, he was where he got it from, after all. Every cruel thing he’d ever said to Greg had been said to him once. His excuses, his coldness, it all came from him. He could be cold if he wanted, it was easy really. Just not now. Not now when he wished he didn’t have to feel the hurt and betrayal so strongly.

It wasn’t fair. If Mort didn’t care then he didn’t want to care either. He didn’t want to care.

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. He ran into the bathroom and turned on the bath to drown out the sound of his dad in the room because he couldn’t stand the sound of his voice. It didn’t work, he could still hear him.

_“That boy’s excessive insecurities are his own doing! He’s always been like this! Insufferable, self-absorbed, inconsiderate of others’ time and the things they need to do!”_

He’d paced the length of the tiny bathroom, over and over, hands gripping his hair as he tried to mentally muffle the words. Wirt didn’t want to hear them. Wirt knew he was all those things, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear it. Hiding in his room, in the bathroom, and shutting Greg out was proof enough of his self-absorption. He couldn’t even pull himself together to put on a happy face for his seven-year-old brother who was only trying to help him. He was inconsiderate, ignoring his boyfriend, refusing to speak to him on the phone - if he was even actually there.

But he couldn’t talk to Dipper, not like this. Not when he was crying so brokenly, as if his dad actually mattered to him. Except he did matter, and it was awful. He didn’t want Dipper to know. He’d already made him feel bad about it back in Lakeville, he didn’t want to put him through that again. He’d lose him. Why would Dipper want to put up with him when he was like this? Worthless, sobbing, lost little thing.

It was those thoughts that sent him back to the bed after his dad left, so he could curl up and wallow and feel hollow and full and chew on his sweater to muffle his crying so Greg would leave him alone. He didn’t want to be left alone, but he couldn’t face anyone. All he could do to comfort himself was let the tears fall until there weren’t any left and hug one of Greg’s stuffed animals to his chest in an attempt to smother the heartache.

He didn’t want to be left alone, but at least he was good at it.

 

\----

 

The phone rang on the side table. Greg blinked at it, hesitating for a moment before sliding over to pick it up. He accidentally placed it against the cheek that hurt and muttered a soft “ow” before switching sides.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Oh, good! Hi, baby. I was starting to worry this wasn’t working. Wirt still in his room?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah. Are you almost here?” he asked, clutching the phone with both hands, wishing it was Mabel’s hand or a hug instead.

“We’re in New York, about to board. So it’ll be a few more hours. I’m sorry. Our layover ended up being a little longer than it was supposed to, and the internet’s out. So Dipper’s been, well, Dipper.” She laughed for him, stifling a yawn. “He just remembered that he hadn’t even told you about our flight information, though, so that’s why I’m calling. You can’t come meet us if you don’t know where we’re landing. Got a piece of paper so you can write it down?”

“Hang on, let me find some.” He set the phone down and climbed off the couch, running over to the desk. There was a pad of paper sitting on top with some pens, so he grabbed those and hurried back. He cradled the phone between his good cheek and his shoulder, prepared to write down whatever he needed to. “Okay, I’m ready.”

She rattled off their flight information, spelling the name of the airport when Greg asked her to, and gave their gate number and estimated landing time. “It’ll be late, but it’ll still be Wirt’s birthday. We’ll just have to find a place to stay. Dipper’s been trying to book a hotel since we landed, but not having internet... Well, we’ll figure it out.

“They called our section, though, so I have to go. You’ll give that to Wirt when he comes out?”

“Yeah. I will. Thanks for calling, Mabel. And for coming here. I know this is gonna make Wirt feel much better. Have a good flight.”

“Sweetie, Dipper and I will do anything for either of you. We both know you’re upset, too, and we want to make you happy too. Wha-? I’m coming, Dipper! Be good, Greg. I love you!”

“I love you, too,” he replied before she had to hang up.

So they weren’t almost here, but they were close. He and Wirt just needed to figure out how to get to the airport to pick them up and then find a place to stay because they couldn’t stay with Wirt’s horrible dad. Not if he was going to keep saying mean things to him and making him feel bad. Greg rubbed his sore cheek a little, then set the phone down and folded the paper with their information on it to tuck away in the pocket of his shorts. He looked to the door to their room, but decided to give his brother a little bit longer. They did have a lot of time after all.


	3. Chapter 2

Greg wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but the show had changed by the time Wirt opened the door. His eyes were still teary and red-rimmed, his face blotchy from crying, and his hair was a mess, but he was trying to smile for his younger brother. He rubbed his arm through the sleeve of his sweater, then went over to the desk in the room.

“Sorry about all that, Greg,” he apologized, rifling through a drawer.

“It’s okay,” Greg answered, watching him out of the corner of his eye. “He hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not the first time. It’s just been a while since he’s made me feel like that, you know?” His voice broke a little, betraying the cheerful, nonchalant facade with devastation. “Anyway, are you hungry? Let’s order the most expensive things from room service. Charge it all to the room.” He flashed him a weak smile over his shoulder. “You can order whatever you want.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” Greg nodded, then started to fish the piece of paper with Dipper and Mabel’s flight information out of his pocket. They could talk about it over lunch.

Wirt nodded, too, then pulled the hotel menu out from the desk and brought it over to him. “I’ll try and translate for y-”

He froze. Greg blinked and looked up from the paper, meeting his gaze. Wirt’s mouth hung open, his eyes impossibly wide, and his face had paled as he gaped at him. He darted in front of him, dropping to his knees as his hands went to Greg’s shoulders to turn him so they were face to face. Wirt’s hands were shaking. He lifted one to his cheek, the one that still stung and felt tight and puffy at the same time. Greg couldn’t help flinching, it hurt to be touched, and Wirt recoiled immediately.

“Greg,” he breathed, gasping with each word that spilled from him. “Greg, no. No, no, no. Oh no. I’m _sorry_.”

“It’s not your fault,” he told him.

“How could I let this happen? Are you okay? Did he hurt you anywhere else?” Wirt patted him down even as Greg shook his head.

“No. It’s okay, Wirt. It didn’t even hurt that bad. I was mostly surprised.”

“No, no, it’s not okay! He does _not_ get to touch you!” Wirt smoothed back Greg’s hair and cupped his uninjured cheek while his gaze lingered on the other side of his face. “Ice. I’m gonna get you some ice. Oh, wait.”

He hurried to the mini fridge in the kitchenette and pulled out a bottle of wine. He wrapped it in a paper towel, then brought it over to him and held it against his cheek. It felt pretty good after a few seconds. Greg could breathe easier with his brother there now, his thoughts not so sticky and stuttering in his head.

“How’s that?” Wirt asked.

“Better.” Greg gave his brother a pat on the cheek. “Isn’t everything in that fridge a million dollars or something if you move it?”

“Who cares? I’ll take everything out of that fridge and pour it down the sink.”

“Wirt,” he sighed. “He didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to? Greg, don’t make excuses for him!” Wirt glared through his tears, anger settling in.

He shook his head. “But he didn’t! It was my fault, too, I was yelling at him and calling him mean things because he upset you-”

“No. No, he is an _adult_ , Greg. He should know better than to hit anyone. Especially a child. _Especially_ a child who isn’t even his! He does not get to hit _you_ and walk away from that!”

Greg’s eyes widened. “Did he ever hit you?”

Wirt ceased his tirade, the fury fading to give way to a more perplexed expression. “I… no. No I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.”

“Wirt…”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t, Greg. Like, ninety-five percent sure. I never fought back, so I don’t think he ever felt the need to.” He looked at him sternly. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

“Wirt, I’m fine now. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He pushed the wine bottle away and gave him his best smile, then made a fist. “I only wish that I’d been able to give him the ol’ one-two or a good kickeroo before he left.”

It didn’t make him smile the way he’d hoped. “Greg, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t hit me. And if he never hit you, then you didn’t know that he would.”

Wirt shook his head, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. “I’m your big brother, I’m supposed to look after you and I was too caught up in myself to even-”

“You were upset ‘cause your dad’s a jerk and ruined your birthday,” Greg defended. “You should get to be alone in your room and cry about that. If it’s not my fault that he hit me, then it’s not your fault either. It’s his fault.”

Wirt stared at him a long moment, looking even more wounded than when he found out this was a business trip. “C’mere,” he murmured, moving to sit on the couch and drew him into his arms. “You’re right. It is his fault.”

“I’m always right,” Greg replied, snuggling against him while Wirt squeezed him tightly. “So don’t feel bad, Wirt. It’s still your birthday and we shouldn’t let your dad ruin that. Let’s order room service and have a big, birthday lunch and then I’ll take you to the museums. We’ll go see them without your dumb ol’ dad.”

Wirt nuzzled the top of his head. “I don’t know about that. But we’ll definitely do the room service. After that though…” He pulled back to look him in the eyes. “After that we’re going home. We’re not staying here with him. I’m taking you home.”

“What?” Greg leaned back, blinking up at him wide-eyed. “No, Wirt, we can’t!”

“Yes, we can. I’ll… I’ll figure some way out. We’re not staying here another minute-”

“No, Wirt, I mean we really can’t go,” he pressed, tugging on his sweater.

Wirt huffed and frowned at him. “Greg, it’s fine. I don’t care about Paris. I’ll see it again someday-”

“It’s not about Paris- well, it’s a little about Paris,” he hummed, considering it. “But we can’t go because Dipper and Mabel are coming!”

A beat of silence followed his declaration. Wirt’s hold on him slowly loosened and he eased back to blink at him. Greg watched him carefully, observing his reaction and finding it to be less than what he hoped. He poked Wirt’s cheeks, making him shake his head and come out of his reverie.

“Greg, no- No, they’re not. They can’t. They have school today and they’re all the way in California-”

“Not anymore,” he piped up. “They got on a plane. They’re coming here today. See? I’ve got their flight information!” He held up the notepad paper and handed it to him.

Wirt’s eyes widened as he took it. “What…? _What_? Greg, no, how-? What- why are they coming here? Why did they book a flight to _Paris_?”

“I called Dipper! I told you,” he explained when Wirt’s jaw dropped. “What? I did. I told you Dipper wanted to talk to you and when you didn’t open the door he decided to come here to talk to you in-person. What’s wrong?”

Wirt had paled, immediately removing Greg from his lap as he reached for the hotel phone. He punched in the numbers for Dipper’s cell, hoping to catch him before it was too late. “No, no. He can’t come to Paris for me. That’s ridiculous. He can’t.” The call went straight to voicemail. It was turned off. It was turned off because he was in the air on a transatlantic flight to Paris, France because he was the biggest baby in the whole world. “Oh god,” he choked, dragging his hand through his hair as fresh tears sprouted and he lowered the receiver to the cradle.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy? This is a good thing. Dipper and Mabel will make sure you have a good birthday-”

“No, no, Greg, this is insane! They can’t just- I didn’t want- I’m not worth-”

“Don’t say that!” Greg stood up on the couch to point at him, stern and serious. “You’re worth it! You’re more than worth it!”

“They shouldn’t be coming here! It’s too much! I can’t believe I made them jump on a plane to-! _Ugh_. Why didn’t I just open the door?” Wirt sagged on the couch, hunching in on himself while his hands clutched at his hair.

“You didn’t make them. Dipper decided to come on his own,” Greg explained, his heart growing heavier as Wirt’s distress rose. “Wirt, it’s okay. Now you’ll get to be with Dipper on your birthday after all.”

“I didn’t want it like this! I didn’t mean for this to go so wrong!” Wirt looked up at him, tears streaking his cheeks as he looked right at his swollen cheek. “Greg, we can’t stay here. I don’t want Dipper and Mabel to see him. I- I don’t know what to do!”

“We don’t have to stay here. We’ll go stay somewhere else with Dipper and Mabel.” Greg hugged him, arms holding tight around his neck. “Wirt, it’s gonna be okay.”

“We can’t book hotel rooms, Greg! We’re all minors! No one is going to take us! I don’t have the money for a hotel room! What are we going to do? They’re coming all this way for nothing-”

“They’re coming for you. Because they love you. And I love you. Wirt, we just want you to be happy and have a good birthday. We don’t want you to be sad.”

Exhaling shakily, Wirt hugged him back. “I know. I know, Greg, I just… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know I’m freaking out.”

“It’s okay. A lot happened today.” Greg rubbed his back and waited for him to take another deep breath and release it. “Want to order the room service and then figure out what to do?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we should eat. And I’ll ask for some actual ice for your face.” Wirt sat back and cupped his chin to examine the red welt. “I can’t believe he hit you.”

“He’s just lucky he ran away before I could hit back.”

That got a chuckle from his brother. “Yeah. I bet. Okay, so what do you want?”

“Something delicious.”

 

\----

 

After lunch and some more ice on Greg’s cheek, the boys packed up their things. Wirt had a plan, sort of. It definitely involved getting out of this room, so that was the first thing they’d take care of. The second would be getting his dad to agree to put them up somewhere else for the rest of the trip and to hand over their tickets for the return flight. If he didn’t have to, he wasn’t going to see this man again. Greg’s cheek was still pink and it made Wirt see red every time he glimpsed it, and he knew the twins would feel just as strongly as soon as they saw it. It was really better for everyone involved that they keep as far away from his dad as possible.

They found out where Mort was meeting his clients and with suitcases in hand and a frog tucked under Greg’s arm, they walked right on in. There were a lot of different floors with different businesses, but Wirt knew where he was going. He walked right up to the front desk with zero hesitation. Greg was pretty impressed when he cleared his throat for the attendant’s attention and kept his shoulders straight when she glanced up.

“Do you speak English?” he asked first, then when she nodded he continued, “I’m here to see Mr. Palmer. Can you please let him know?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Palmer’s engaged in a discussion with the board right now,” she responded, her gaze shifting between the two of them as if she’d never seen children before. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“No. Please tell him his son is here and he needs to speak with him. Now. It’s urgent,” Wirt told her seriously.

She hesitated, but dialed the number for whatever conference room they were using and waited. “There’s someone here to see Mr. Palmer. He says he’s his son and that it’s urgent. Alright.” She hung up and addressed the two of them. “He’ll be out shortly. Please have a seat.”

“No thanks. We won’t be here long.”

They weren’t. Greg felt Wirt’s grip tighten around his hand as Mort Palmer strode into the room. While he was attempting to look annoyed, Greg could see that it was mostly to mask the worry and embarrassment that rippled across his features. They stared at each other for a moment before Mort nodded at Wirt.

“What seems to be the problem, son? I’m pretty busy at the moment-”

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t know why I’m here,” Wirt interrupted, glowering at him.

Mort was taken aback. “Wirt, I’m… Son, I’m sorry-”

“I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to,” he scoffed. “But that’s not why we’re here either. We don’t need your apologies. We need a new room. We’re not staying with you. Also, give me the flight information. Greg and I will print our own boarding passes and we’ll get to the airport on our own and we don’t want to see you for the rest of the trip. I don’t want to see you.”

“Wirt, that’s ridiculous.” Mort’s brow furrowed and as he took a step closer to the boys, Wirt took two steps back, taking Greg with him. “I’m not getting you and Greg your own room. You practically have your own room anyway.”

“I just said I don’t want to see you,” Wirt snapped. “Now who’s the one who’s not listening?”

“Don’t talk to me like that-!”

“You lay a hand on my brother and I can talk to you however I want!”

“Keep your voice down!” Mort hissed and grabbed Wirt’s wrist.

Wirt flinched hard. Greg’s heart clenched in fear as his brother was wrenched forward and they were dragged to a room to the side, a private room, leaving their bags in the lobby. When Mort released Wirt’s wrist, the teenager took to cradling it against his chest as he tried not to tremble. Greg didn’t believe that Mort had never hit him. Maybe he hadn’t ever, but Greg didn’t believe it. Wirt was cowering as he tried to get his breathing back under control, to get control over the situation once more.

“We’re… we’re not staying with you,” Wirt repeated, though his voice trembled. “Get us a new room in a new hotel now. As far from you as possible.”

“I’m not getting you a hotel room,” he replied. “What would your mother think if I let her children stay in Paris alone?”

“I’m sure she finds that preferable to you beating her kids.”

When Mort whirled on him, Wirt held his arm out to shield Greg from him. “I didn’t,” he growled.

“The mark on my brother’s face says otherwise,” Wirt glowered back. “Last time you left a mark on her kid, she divorced you so fast you didn’t even have time to pack up your things before you were out of the house. What do you think she’ll do now that you haven’t been married in eight years? When you hit a kid that isn’t even yours? Meeting clients for fancy dinners will be the least of your concerns when she’s through with you.”

“Are you threatening me?” Mort loomed over Wirt.

The teenager puffed up his chest, head held high as he struggled not to quaver in his presence. “Yes. Hotel room. Two doubles. With complimentary breakfast. And a view. Plus spending money. Whatever you would’ve spent on our food the rest of the time here. You do all that and I won’t tell Mom.”

Mort gritted his teeth. “Listen, you ungrateful shit, I’m your father and you do what I say. That’s supposed to be the one _perk_ of parenthood. You do what _I_ say.”

Wirt was shaking, Greg could feel it. Both boys were silent for a moment before the older one opened his mouth. “You gave up that perk the day you brushed me aside and walked out the front door without a word.”

“I’m glad I walked out on you. If I had to put up with ten more years of you-”

“Yeah, well, great. At least one of us is happy. Spare yourself the agony of having to deal with me a second longer and just put us up somewhere else.”

He did. Whether it was out of fear of Wirt exposing what he did to his mother or just to get rid of them, neither of the boys knew, but he set Wirt up at a computer with one of his credit cards and let him have at it while he wrote down their flight information. Wirt found out pretty quickly that most smaller, boutique-like hotels only offered two twin beds if more than one bed was necessary, but figuring that the four of them had managed to sleep an entire month sharing two twin beds that they could go four nights just fine. After quick deliberation, he and Greg picked nearby, about ten minutes away from their current hotel. It was a good location, with views of Parisian rooftops and the Eiffel tower from the balconies of the rooms, without being terribly expensive. While his dad didn’t want for money, he wasn’t exactly rich. Wirt’s fingers trembled as he typed in the information and he had to double check everything to make sure he hadn’t made any mistakes.

Any and all personal feelings were shoved aside, Wirt’s focus jumping from one task to another without giving himself time to dwell on anything. Once he and Greg were free of Mort and waiting at the airport for Dipper and Mabel, then there would be time to process what was going on. Then he would be able to let himself feel whatever the heck he wanted. Keeping Greg safe, finding lodging for Dipper and Mabel, and getting money to sustain them all, that was what was important in his mind. His heart was secondary.

Able to take a quick break, Mort accompanied the boys to the hotel to check in. He and Wirt privately agreed that he would come back on Friday to check out for them before heading to the airport. Wirt hoped he, Greg, and the twins would be long gone by then. Without another word, both father and son stoic and silent, passive-aggressive in their mutual disdain, Mort handed over two sets of keys to their hotel room and money for transportation and food for the remainder of the trip.

Then he got in a cab and left the newly sixteen-year-old and his seven-year-old brother on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

“Wirt?” Greg murmured, squeezing his brother’s hand. “Are you okay?”

He wasn’t. Not in the slightest, and they both knew it, but he couldn’t stop yet. Without taking time to admire the Haussmannian architecture, a particular favorite of his, or the smooth color palette or the intricate, iron-wrought details, Wirt herded Greg and Jason Funderburker inside to their room to deposit their luggage. After taking the time to check Greg’s cheek, icing it once more just because Wirt wanted to feel useful and in charge and responsible, the two of them plus their frog abandoned their room just as quickly as they’d blown in. There were still hours until Dipper and Mabel were scheduled to land, but Wirt hailed a taxi to the airport nonetheless.

 

\----

 

“God _damn it_ , Dipper!”

He angled his head, face settled into mutinous lines. “Either take us to the airport, or I’m calling a cab. But we’re going and that’s that.”

“It’s one thing for you to throw away your education, but to take Mabel with you-”

“It’s _one_ week, and school’s barely even started! Mabel and I can make this up easy. We’re going to Paris, dad.”

His father raked his hands through his hair, the hereditary cowlick getting crushed by angry fingers. “You’re not leaving this house, let alone the country. Where did you even get passports?”

“The grunkles decided we should have them.”

“Oh, of _course_! Why wouldn’t they continue to undermine my authority?”

“Sorry if doing something good and decent undermines your authority as a parent! I’ll be sure to let them know that something as sensible as getting us passports is such a terrible thing in your book.”

“Don’t you sass me, young man! You’ve got no business gallivanting off to Paris just because you miss your boyfriend!”

“That’s not why I’m going!” Dipper shouted. “I’m going because his dad was a great big prick and ruined his birthday and maybe I know a thing or two about that, _dad_!”

Hurt flared, old wounds touched, and the man dealt with injury in much the same way as his son - by raising his voice. “Watch your tone! You’re the one in trouble here! You went behind our backs and bought tickets to head to another country for a week just to see some _boy_. Whatever your reasons, they’re not worth it and neither is he! He’s just a boy!”

“He’s _not_ just a boy! He’s the guy I’m completely in love with, and I’m going to Paris! It’s _my_ money, and it’s _my_ life, and-”

“You are fifteen years old, Abel Pines! You don't have the capacity to understand what love is or means! It's a pipe dream at this point, and you're wasting your time on grand gestures that won't mean a thing in a year's time!”

“I'm not a chemistry experiment, Michael!”

“Don't you dare use my first name! I am your father and you will treat me with respect!”

“If you want some, earn it!”

“That’s enough! Not only are you not going to Paris, I am grounding you for the rest of your natural life! You won’t talk to that boy the rest of the goddamn school year if I have anything to say about it.”

“You _don’t_!” Dipper spat. “I bought this phone! I pay this bill! And I bought two tickets to Paris, freaking France, and you can bite me!” Enraged, he pushed his father a physical step back and didn’t even flinch when an answering fist was lifted. “Hit me then!” he snarled. “You’re ruining my life in every other way, and you’ve been doing it since I was seven years old. Let’s add child abuse to the list!”

The fist clenched, then fell, his father taking a full step back of his own volition. “Dipper-”

“I’m sorry that your freakshow son wants to go to Paris to make his boyfriend feel better, but he saved me after I got this-” he pushed back his bangs and didn’t hear both parents gasp over his own shouting- “so I’m saving him now!” His hat was slammed back onto his head. “I’m _going_! And so is Mabel!”

His mother took a step forward, hands outstretched, and Dipper jerked back instinctively, bumping into another body. His sister’s hand lifted to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “He got hurt before we left Gravity Falls, and Wirt’s the main reason why Dipper wasn’t hurt worse.”

“Oh, baby...”

“We’ve got to go see if he’s okay. We have to make his birthday better,” Mabel insisted, both frustrated and relieved when her father’s shoulders relaxed. She wished they would relax for Dipper. She wished it didn’t always have to be her to soothe.

She looked to her mother, whose hands had fallen at Dipper’s retreat, and looked ready to cry. Mabel’s shoulders squared in response. “I’m sorry. I know this is really sudden, but we’ll be okay. Wirt’s little brother sounded really scared, and I don’t want to leave him alone with Wirt’s dad.”

It took a few more coaxing words, a few more soothing squeezes to her twin’s tense shoulder, but both parents relented at their combined determination. Still, it was only their mother who took them to the airport and gave them tight hugs goodbye. She tried again to see what was beneath Dipper’s cap, the glimpse of the sweet little birthmark scarred over seared in her mind. But her boy took a step back and wouldn’t let her. It broke her heart as much as the scar did.

“Plane leaves late Friday, so we’ll see you Saturday morning. Or really late Friday, I guess, since we’re gaining a few hours.”

“I’ll be here.”

There was a long pause before Dipper turned away to get in the line to security. “Thanks, mom.”

 

\----

 

“Oh my god, I’m so stupid.”

Mabel yawned, the sleep she’d managed to get on the flight to New York a distant memory. Drastic time difference or no, she knew she’d have little trouble getting to sleep that night. Wherever they ended up finding a place to sleep. “You’re not stupid, bro-bro. You’re just worried.”

“Stupidly worried. For no real reason. I mean, who knows if Wirt’s really as bad as Greg said? I mean, he’s seven. He doesn’t have a real gauge for stuff like this. And I was barely able to hear anything anyway because it was through a door and the phone. Maybe I was just projecting because we can’t even talk while he’s in Paris unless he somehow manages to get to his email and that’s not enough. Oh my god, what if we’re just flying all the way to Paris because I’m a selfish, stupid idiot? Oh my god, what am I doing? What did I _do_?!”

“You made dad use your real first name for the first time in... Was it fifth grade?”

“Sixth at the planetarium.” He yanked at the bill of his cap, not wanting to think about it. “Besides, you and I both know Dipper is my real first name. The other thing is just slander.”

“The other thing is on your birth certificate, dork.”

“Shut up.” But she’d succeeded in making him smile a little.

She laid her head on his shoulder, sighing. They’d gotten lucky for this flight. While the tickets Dipper had managed to buy were on two opposite ends of coach, the old woman who’d been seated next to Mabel had been perfectly willing to let the siblings sit next to each other and had traded tickets with Dipper. It killed any hope Mabel had entertained of getting some more sleep, but at least now her twin had someone to spill his fears out to.

And they’d mounted considerably with sleep deprivation and no one to talk to between Piedmont and New York.

Not having a place to stay had been at the top of his list for a while, and now it seemed to be sliding more towards how Wirt was going to react. “But, Dipper, you know how well Greg knows him. I know in The Unknown they both seemed a little disconnected, but it’s different. We saw that this summer. They’re both good brothers. They understand each other. If Greg said Wirt was heartbroken, then he was and it’s good that we’re going.”

“I know that. I know, but I just... It’s his _dad_ , Mabel. I can’t not go and make sure that it’s okay. But what if it is and Wirt just gets all uncomfortable and we just re-ruin everything? A lot can happen in twelve hours.”

If anyone knew how rocky a relationship Dipper had with their own dad, it was her. She took his hand, waiting for him to relax a bit. “What if it’s not and us showing up fixes everything?”

“We can’t fix everything,” he mumbled. “We can’t fix this.”

“But you can make him feel better about it. That counts for something, Dipper. Listen, just try and get some sleep, okay? You don’t want to spend Wirt’s whole birthday - well, what time we get with him on it - asleep, right?”

He laid his cheek against her hair, sinking down. “You’re just saying that because you’re tired.”

“You know it, Dipdop.” She gave his hand a squeeze, her eyes already closed. “Have a good nap.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, his own slipping shut and managed to nap at least until food was brought around. And then he went right back to stressing.

 

\----

 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so stupid.”

Greg and Jason Funderburker looked up from the coloring book he’d ingeniously thought to bring along for while they waited. He and Wirt were sitting on a bench, well, he was sitting at least. Wirt was more hunched over like the hunchback they didn’t get to see at Notre-Dame. They’d have to go back with Dipper and Mabel. If anyone could find a hunchback or catacomb ghosts, then it was the Mystery Twins. But for now they were sitting on a bench at the airport as the hours for Wirt’s sixteenth birthday ticked away.

Wirt didn’t really seem to care about that, but Greg did. He’d suggested finding a place to get him a cake while they waited, but his older brother hadn’t been interested. He hadn’t been interested in a birthday dinner either. He hadn’t really been interested in anything at all except how Greg was doing. The afternoon and evening had been peppered with, “do you need anything, Greg?” and “how are you feeling, Greg?” or “does it still hurt?” and “are you hungry?” and “are you tired?” or worst of all, “I’m so sorry, Greg.”

This was the first time since he spoke to Mort that he said something about himself.

Wirt pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Greg worried he was trying to push them back into his head with how hard he was rubbing. He reached out and gave him a pat on the knee.

“You’re not stupid, Wirt. You figured out a lot of things today on your own! You’re almost like a real grown-up!”

“That’s not-” he started, lifting his head to stare at Greg wearily. “No, I’m talking about earlier. I should’ve answered the phone. I shouldn’t have even locked myself in the room.”

Greg sighed. “Wirt…”

“I mean, what are they expecting when they get here? They dropped everything - _everything_ \- to fly to another country and they’re going to realize that. They’re going to take one look at me and realize what a huge mistake they just made because I’m fine!” The noise that came out of his throat following that didn’t sound fine at all. “Look at me. I’m not hurt. I’m not in danger. I’m sitting on a bench at the airport after being careless enough to let someone hurt you and selfish enough to freak out my boyfriend because I wouldn’t come to the phone when you asked me to.”

“Honestly, if you did answer the phone when he called, I think you would’ve freaked him out even more,” Greg pointed out, trying to be helpful as Wirt raked his fingers through his hair. “You were crying really hard.”

“Which was ridiculous and stupid of me.” Wirt tugged on his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m too sensitive. I wear my stupid heart on my stupid sleeve and demand too much attention- I mean, seriously, what kind of person makes their boyfriend and his sister get on a plane in the middle of the night for a flight that’s over ten hours long just because his feelings got hurt? Oh my gosh, he’s right. He’s right. I’m ruining people’s lives just by existing.”

“You’re not.” Greg blinked at him, horrified that he’d come to that conclusion. “Wirt, your dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about! He doesn’t know you! He’s just a rotten guy that likes to make other people feel just as rotten as he does.”

“Yeah? And how am I any better? Because I asked to see him and agreed to this trip in the first place, I dragged you and Dipper and Mabel right down with me. They’re going to see that. They’ve had hours to think about it on the plane. They’re going to get here and realize what a waste this all was-” Wirt cut himself off and stood abruptly. “I can’t- I have to- I- uh- _ugh_! Stop stammering!”

Greg closed his coloring book, grabbed their frog, and hopped off the bench after him, glancing back at the board with all the flights on it and the time. Dipper and Mabel’s plane should be landing soon, or maybe have already landed, he couldn’t tell, but he knew in any case that he and Wirt didn’t have time to go for another walk around the airport. He latched onto his hand and tugged.

“Come on, Wirt, let’s just sit for a minute. It’s almost eight o’clock, I think.”

“No. No, I can’t stay here. We should go. We should just go, this was stupid. They’re not coming. They probably already realized it was stupid back in New York and turned around. Yeah, that’s what happened,” Wirt babbled, dragging Greg in the opposite direction of the international gates.

“No it’s not! Wirt, Mabel called me in New York! That’s when she told me the plan! They’ll be here and we need to be here so we can all be together! Mystery Best Friends, Wirt!” he protested, planting his feet to make it difficult for Wirt to pull him and Jason Funderburker along.

“Stop it, Greg!”

“You stop it!”

They were making a scene, two American children tugging back and forth on each other’s arms. In normal circumstances, the occasional stares of passer-bys would be enough to get Wirt to clam up and attempt to blend in with his surroundings to dissuade the attention. It was definitely a testament to how wound up he was that he didn’t seem to care.

“Greg, we’re leaving!”

“Wirt, we’re staying!”

“We need to go and ice your face some more!”

“My face is fine! Your heart’s the one that needs ice, it’s all broken and busted up and you need to let Dipper and Mabel help you fix it! And me!”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“That’s not a reason!” Greg hated to do it, but Wirt was bigger than him and getting him much farther from the bench than he wanted to be, so he tried to kick him, to make him trip, to stop him for just five seconds so he could try and knock some sense into him. “I thought you wanted to see them!”

Wirt stumbled, but he didn’t fall down. He did stop though, which was good enough for Greg. “I _do_ want to see them.”

“So what’s the problem, Wirt?” He sagged, keeping their frog tucked under his arm as he stopped fighting him.

Quiet for a moment, the older brother stared at his shoes. They were the same for once. No mismatched shoes today. He scuffed the toes against the floor. “What if they’re not coming?”

“They are.” Greg squeezed his hand, leading him back a bit.

“What if they realize they hate me?”

“They won’t.” Greg’s cheek throbbed and his own heart hurt a little as Wirt covered his eyes with his palm with a shudder and exhaled harshly. “Aw, Wirt…”

“Wirt!” Heart racing, having missed the fight and seeing only that his boyfriend was upset, Dipper raced over and latched on, pressing their lips together. He grabbed his shoulders, then slid his hands down his sides just to feel him, just to know he was there. His carry-on had been shoved at Mabel, who scurried right behind him.

“I'm sorry,” he blurted, ending the kiss as abruptly as it'd started. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just freaked out. You sounded so upset, and it's your birthday. And your dad made you cry like- Oh my god, you were crying so hard. He hurt you, and I know what that's like when your dad hurts you like that. It's the worst thing, so I couldn't just stay in stupid California and let you have an awful birthday. Birthdays are important. You're important. I love you, man. But I wasn't thinking about where we'd stay until we were on the first flight and then in New York- Who lets an airport lose wifi? Seriously! New York sucked, but Mabel and I can probably get- I don't know. I just had to make sure you were okay, but I wasn't thinking. You've probably been freaking out and I've made it worse. I love you, Wirt. I'm so sorry.”

“Dipper…?” He was here. He was here and the first thing he’d done had been to kiss him, then told him that he loved him. The flurry of words, the wonderful whirlwind of babbling apologies and explanations, were vaguely registered and Wirt’s wide-eyed stare filled with tears. It hadn’t been long since he’d last heard his voice and he’d seen him only a week and a half ago, but he’d almost forgotten how much he craved this boy.

Wirt shook his head, and his lips parted to reassure him that while yes, he was freaking out, it wasn’t for the reasons he thought, though that wasn’t what left them. “Dipper,” he breathed through a shallow sob, body hitching with the attempt to repress what tried to follow as he threw his arms around his shoulders and clung. His fingers curled in his shirt, face buried in the crook of his neck as he held on, breathed him in. Oh god, he’d _missed_ him. The past twelve hours had been _awful_. He’d been wavering on the cusp of having his emotions completely shut off and choking on them like he was choking on his tears now. He was making another scene, he realized as he started to cry, but he was so relieved. So stupid for making Dipper worry and jump on the first freaking flight to Paris, but so, so relieved and so, so hurt still.

“Hey, hey, I've got you. It's okay.” Dipper wound his arms around him immediately, pressing kisses to his hair. “I love you. It’s okay.”

Wirt shuddered, his breath catching on an embarrassingly loud sob. He’d already cried so much today, but there’d been no relief in it, no comfort. It was too easy to let himself be comforted and soothed when Dipper was there. Safety and security and love. There was love. Oh, wow, he really had to be messed up to consider that Dipper would hate him. Though the fear was still there, the doubt weighing down his heart.

“I’m sorry-” he hiccupped, still hiding his face against him. “I’m sorry. You’re missing school. I should’ve answered the phone. I’m sorry. And- and now I’m just crying all over you and- and I’m so glad you’re here, but I- I don’t want to mess things up for you- I’m not worth it-”

“You're worth it. You're not messing anything up. It's okay.” He cupped Wirt's cheeks, thumbing the tears. “You can cry all you want. I'll take care of you, pilgrim.”

Wirt swallowed past the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly to actually see his boyfriend through the film of tears. His assurances were a balm for his heart, his insides not twisting quite so hard or churning so violently. Dipper said things like that so easily. That he was worth it, like he actually believed it. With one last gasp, a few more tears squeezing out as he tried to compose himself, his mind shifted gears hard.

“R-right. Okay, okay, but not- not now. We’re still… we’re kinda still standing in the middle of the airport and you need your bags and you’re probably hungry and we should go to the room- oh, um, I took care of the room thing. I had to. We’ve got a place to stay, so you don’t have to worry about that. I took care of it.” Wirt loosened his grip on him as he took in deep gulps of air, trying to get him back into the groove of action and step-by-step. Bags, food, taxi, hotel- or maybe bags, taxi, hotel, food.

Dipper nodded and laid his lips against Wirt's, rubbing gently. “Okay. And, um, y'know, it hasn't been the best, but hi. Happy birthday.”

His eyes rounded, distracted from his mental list. “Oh. Oh yeah, thanks. Thank you.” Heart fluttering, Wirt finally managed a small smile. “I woke up wanting to see you, thinking that was the only thing this birthday was really missing. Didn't think it was actually gonna happen.”

“Dude, me either. I was working on calc and had this really lame birthday email ready to send right at midnight. This is way better.”

“We don't even have to mail your birthday presents!” Mabel added, worry for Wirt receding now that he’d smiled.

Her attention dropped to Greg, the girl physically lowering to his level to pull him in for a hug. Her hands faltered on his shoulders. “Baby, what happened?”

“Um...” Greg lowered his arms from the start of the hug he'd been ready to give her and glanced at Wirt when his brother stiffened, smile crumbling and going back at least five spaces. So much for that progress. Biting down on his lower lip, he focused on Mabel. “Well... I _kinda_ picked a fight with Wirt's dad...”

“He hit him.” Wirt's fists clenched as he averted his gaze. “I tried to keep it from swelling, but I... I wasn't there when it happened.” If he had been it wouldn't have happened in the first place.

“Of course you weren’t. Shush. No one’s blaming you, Wirt.” Mabel gathered Greg close, holding as tight as she could without also squeezing Jason Funderburker. “I’ve got some tylenol in my bag to help with that, and we’ll make you an ice pack when we get to the hotel. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“Yeah,” Dipper agreed, swallowing hard as he resisted the urge to snatch Greg up for his own hug. He let his twin handle that, though, cupping Wirt’s chin to turn his head. Twisting the bill of his cap to the side, he rested their brows together to keep him from evading. He knew how he’d be feeling if this was him and Mabel had been the one with a smacked face. “It’s not your fault. You never would’ve brought Greg if you thought he’d get hurt. It’s not your fault that you were upset and in your room. It’s not your fault that a grown freaking man hit a seven year old. It’s okay, Wirt. He’ll be okay.

“Let’s just go get our bags and get to the hotel. Come on.” He slipped his hand into his boyfriend’s, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Wirt closed his eyes and squeezed his hand, nodding. He resisted the urge to lean against him as they made their way to the luggage carousel, holding it together as he made sure Greg didn’t wander off while Dipper and Mabel grabbed their bags and then hailed them a taxi. The four of them squeezed in the back, Greg on Mabel’s lap, Wirt in the middle, and Dipper on the other side and only when they started moving, when someone else was in charge of getting them to their destination, did Wirt succumb to the urge and laid his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abel Pines.
> 
> Long story short, we had to do it. Matchy twin names!  
> For more detail regarding this headcanon in particular, see this post here: http://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/post/124980626922/i-was-thinking-about-dipper-as-i-always-am-and-i
> 
> But yeah.  
> Abel. 
> 
> Sorry, Dipper.


	4. Chapter 3

When they entered the hotel room this time, Wirt actually noticed just what it looked like. The room was awash with soft grays and olive greens. The walls were adorned with a few framed renderings of Parisian landmarks and cityscapes, one boasting an intricate damask pattern in a darker green. Above each of the twin beds were wall lights able to be angled away for reading should the other occupant of the bed wish to sleep. Two round accent chairs were stuffed in a corner close to a wall-mounted television and a small desk was pushed against the wall closest to the door that opened to the terrace. Over by the dresser, relatively untouched aside from when they’d been dumped inside, were Greg and Wirt’s suitcases and their respective carry-on bags, Greg’s backpack open and crayons and coloring books spilling out onto the floor.

It was cozy. It was soothing. It felt much more like him than the ornate, lavish, over-the-top suite his dad had booked. Though, Wirt supposed it wasn’t just their surroundings that he found comforting, but also the company.

“We’ve got two keys, so… uh… one of you should hold onto one, too, just in case.” Wirt held out the extra card key once they were inside and the twins’ bags had joined theirs.

“I’ll take it,” Mabel decided, her twin nodding his agreement. It made more sense as Dipper was unlikely to leave Wirt alone and she was more likely to separate from them with Greg. She took the card and then bundled Wirt in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, sweetie. I gotta say, I’m loving the sweater choice.”

Wirt clung to her almost immediately, Mabel’s steadfast belief in them as much of a balm as Dipper’s love. He managed a small laugh muffled into her shoulder. “It’s my favorite. Had to wear my favorite sweater on my birthday, you know?” He squeezed her a little, his gratitude at her being there alongside Dipper swelling behind the light words.

“Absolutely! It’s too bad that this was just a really bad practice birthday. We’ll obviously have to have the real one tomorrow and the rest of the week too. You’ll have to tell us all the things you want to do, so we can make sure to get them in.” She drew back and smoothed down his sweater with quick brushes. “Except presents are already settled. You’re definitely getting your presents tonight.”

“And cake!” Greg piped up from where he was already perusing the room service menu. “They have the French word for cake on the menu so we can get you a slice of birthday cake while you open your presents!”

Wirt rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced over at him. “That’s not really necessary, Greg. And seriously, you guys being here is present enough. Oh my gosh, I still can’t believe you flew all the way out here. How much was it? I’ll- I’ll find some way to pay you back, or at least for part of it. I mean, I’m definitely covering your food and all the transportation and stuff while we’re here since I pretty much blackmailed my dad into giving us money, but still.”

“We can’t tell you that. You just said us being here was a present. You don’t pay people back for giving you presents.” Mabel poked his cheeks, beaming. “Whomp whomp.”

“Seriously,” Dipper agreed, tying off a plastic bag he’d filled with ice. He pressed it to Greg’s swollen cheek, studying the menu over his shoulder. “So where’s the English version?”

“You’re so uncultured, Dipdop.”

“Shut up, Mabel.”

“Wirt can translate for you, Dipper,” Greg assured him, snuggling up to him while he helped him hold onto the ice and lifted the menu for him to see better. “He knows all the French words.”

“I don’t know all the French words, Greg,” Wirt protested, pink dusting his cheeks as he and Mabel joined them. “Just… enough to get us food, at least.”

“Say French toast in French again. Like you did at breakfast.”

“Greg-”

“ _Wirt_.”

With a sigh, he relented. “Pain perdu.”

Greg grinned. “Thank you.” He then tilted his head up to look at Dipper and Mabel. “Isn’t it cool?”

“That’s really cool,” Mabel agreed.

“Yeah.” Dipper bit his lip, slanting a look Wirt’s way. “So what other French do you know?”

His blush darkened as he pursed his lips, blinking at the look before he cleared his throat. “Ah… _Tu es très beau. Je t'adore_ ,” he told him, then glanced away as his breath hitched a little. “ _Mon cœur_.”

“I’ve got no idea what any of that meant,” Dipper admitted, but it sounded really good and Wirt looked really cute saying it.

“I do. Ob-waffle.” Mabel patted her heart, in her third year of French. “Greg and I are gonna order some food. Dipper, you should go kiss your boyfriend.”

Wirt’s jaw dropped and he gaped at her. Oh wow, he’d been banking on being the only one of them to know French, but of course Mabel knew. The color in his cheeks only grew worse while Greg agreed to her plan.

“I don’t know what bows have to do with ob-waffle, but I’m all for it,” he chirped. “We’ll order cake for everyone! What do you want besides cake, Wirt?”

“Anything’s fine,” he squeaked out, waving his hand in an ‘anything’ sort of gesture.

“Okay, see, now I have to know what you said.” The twins switched out, Mabel helping Greg and Dipper tugging Wirt into a hug. “It’s totally not fair that she knows, and I don’t.”

Wirt hugged him back, hiding his face against his shoulder. “It’s nothing. Well, it’s not nothing, I meant it, of course, but it’s just basic French stuff like, ‘you’re very handsome’ and… and you know, ‘I adore you.’ Yeah. That’s… that’s all.” Never mind that it also pretty much meant ‘I love you.’

“‘My heart,’” Mabel added, giggling. “You can’t forget that. I told you, Dipdop. You should really-” She looked over at them in time to see Dipper capturing Wirt’s lips, and beamed. Perfect.

Whatever embarrassed sound he would’ve made in protest was drowned out by the way he melted into the kiss. “ _Mon cœur_. My heart, right,” he breathed, and his heart was certainly fluttering thanks to Dipper. “That is also what I said.”

“I’m seriously regretting taking Latin over French right now. You use your poetry voice for it, and it’s really-” Dipper pressed a kiss just below his ear, voice lowering. “It’s really hot. Wow.”

“Oh my gosh. It’s… it’s really not?” Wirt shivered, fingers curling in his shirt and toying with the fabric, the low tone inspiring the butterflies in his belly to take flight. “Besides, I- I dunno, Latin’s way more you.”

A dead language for the paranormal kid. A romance one for the poet. Dipper let his lips roam back to his lips, amused at both of them. The first kiss was quick and light. “Want to sit on the balcony with me?” he asked and sank into a second kiss which neither quick nor light.

“Mm…” Wirt’s eyes closed, his attempts to nod dissuaded by the distracting, dizzy swell that came with having Dipper’s mouth on his. “Mmhm,” he hummed his agreement instead, releasing his shirt so their hands could find each other.

Dipper laced their fingers, leading him to the balcony doors. His fingers fumbled on the lock, awed just by what could be seen through the glass.

“Whoa,” he breathed, then tugged Wirt out and straight to the edge. “Whoa!” he repeated, this time laughing. Squeezing his hand, he leaned out a little and could see the Eiffel Tower off to the side. “I know you've seen this already, but wow.” He swiveled his head back to his boyfriend, grin wide. “We're in freaking _Paris_ , man! Whoa.”

“I haven’t seen it like this,” he replied, smile fond as he absorbed Dipper’s excited energy, gaze taking him in. Paris appeared infinitely better with him right in the middle of it. The fondness gave way to his own delight as he shifted his gaze away from the shimmer in his boyfriend’s eyes to admire their surroundings. He exhaled in quiet awe, the rooftops and Eiffel Tower and the sounds and lights of Paris right on the edge of their balcony.

“Wow is right. I didn’t even know we got a room with a view this good. This is… this is lucky.” Given everything else that had happened that day, he could appreciate a little good fortune. “We’re in Paris.”

Dipper hooked his arm around Wirt’s waist, tugging him close. “I missed you. Like... worse than when you’re just in Lakeville, city of lakes.”

Wirt turned into him, latching onto the familiar gesture as his arm curled around his shoulders. “I’ve only been gone a day really.” He attempted to play it off, but he’d ached with missing him just the same. No texts or phone calls overseas from a cell phone. “I missed you, too. I wanted to send you pictures of everything yesterday. I wanted you to be here, to see it all with me and- and I wanted you to see how… how _well_ things were going between me and my dad so you wouldn’t have to worry or wonder…”

Dipper tugged him down, sitting with him on the edge as Paris sprawled before them. It was almost painfully romantic, but they could enjoy that later. And they would. Dipper hadn’t flown all the way to France to _not_ spend some of it wrapping him in romance.

For now, he pulled Wirt close and held on with aims to soothe. “So stuff was... It was okay yesterday?”

“Yeah,” he choked out, leaning against him with a long exhale as he gazed out at the cityscape before them. “It was _great_ yesterday. He actually talked to me like… like I was a person? Like my interests mattered to him, like I mattered to him. At least that’s what I thought. I don’t know, maybe he was faking it. Maybe he didn’t really care and I was just too caught up in everything to notice. So starved for his attention that I probably made a complete fool of myself and got tripped up trying to hold his interest. I mean… I thought he actually wanted to spend time with me, that we were connecting. That maybe he didn’t still blame me for the divorce. I don’t know. It was stupid of me.” Wirt hung his head, covering his eyes with one hand as he rubbed them.

“No, it’s not. I get that, trust me. You’re not stupid. It’s so hard wanting to connect with your dad, and just when you think you’ve got a foothold... It just crumbles.” Dipper nuzzled him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “What made it crumble?”

“We got in a fight, I guess.” Wirt allowed the affection to relax him, soaking it up greedily despite the small voice telling him he didn’t deserve it. “I asked him if we could go to some museums today and maybe check out the opera house if there was time, and he said we couldn’t because he was going to be in meetings with a client all day today, going into tomorrow and Wednesday, too, because this was a business trip his firm planned months ago and… and I got upset. I shouldn’t have. I mean, I should’ve been grateful that he pulled strings to bring me along, like he said, but at the time all I could think about was that this trip was just one huge lie, his way of dealing with me the way he always just deals with me and I should’ve known better.

“Then he got mad that I was upset and said- well, I won’t repeat what he said. I don’t want to make you mad. Then he left and I started crying, because that’s always so helpful and fixes everything, and I guess… then Greg called you?”

“Yeah, and he’s gonna _love_ that phone bill. I let Greg talk to Mabel while I faced the firing squad to make extra sure of that.” It was mean, and Dipper knew it was mean, but his tone was mild and his hands gentle as he rubbed soothing circles over Wirt’s heart. “And I’m already mad. I’ve been mad since- Geez, man, I’ve been mad since we heard him on the phone this summer. He talked to you like-” _Like my dad does to me sometimes._

“It just made me mad, and when I heard you crying over the phone because of him, it shut everything down but that. Telling me what he said won’t make me more mad. It can’t. I’m...” He rolled the words on his tongue before letting them out. He didn’t swear often, and this seemed to call for it. “I’m flat pissed off.”

Wirt dropped his hand from his face with a sharp hitch of his breath, a startled gasp combined with a shocked sort of laugh, and angled his head to gape at him. “You are?” His astonishment faded as his gaze roved over his face. “You are…” he murmured, leaning back to cup his cheek. “Oh, don’t be… Don’t let him do that to you. It’s not worth it.”

“He’s not, but you are. I’m not mad at him. I’m mad for you because I know- I know what this feels like.” Dipper turned his head to press a kiss to his palm. “And I hate that you’re going through it.”

“You do?” Wirt blinked, heart stuttering and he shifted closer to him. “You and… and your dad…?” It occurred to him then that he knew almost next to nothing about the Pines parents, just that they both existed and their mom had been the one to invent Dipper’s nickname.

“Yeah, just... We don’t really-” He cut himself off, rolling the tension from his shoulders. “We’re fine now. We’re pretty much fine. It was worse when I was younger.” It could still get bad, but it wasn’t the time for him and his problems. It was Wirt’s birthday, and it was Wirt’s dad who had ruined it, who had smacked Greg.

Sighing, Dipper removed his cap and let their brows rest together. “Don’t worry about it, man. Seriously. Just know that I get this. I know at least some of what you’re feeling - what he made you feel, so I’m here. I’m here for you.”

“I know you are.” Wirt slid his hand from his cheek to the nape of his neck, toying with the curls there. “You dropped everything and flew here without a second thought, how could I doubt that you’re here for me?” But he did, he had. “Okay, so maybe I was afraid you’d think I was making a big deal out of nothing and would immediately regret coming here just for me on the words of a seven-year-old, but… you know me and my mind.

“Point is… I know you are now. Seeing you made me realize it was just me being panicky and probably a little bit of what my dad said hanging over my head. I create problems everywhere I go because me being created was a problem.” Wirt shrugged a little, rubbing their foreheads together. “That was always his thing that he said, like it was some clever turn of phrase or something. I just… I didn’t want to create any problems for you or Mabel, too.”

“You don’t. You don’t create problems for me or her. Buying the tickets was my choice. Flying all the way out here was my choice. You didn’t ask me to, and I don’t really think you would’ve even if you’d opened the door and talked to me. You’re _not_ a problem.”

Okay, so maybe Dipper could get a little more mad. He felt it flare up, simmering under his skin, but his lips were gentle  when they brushed over his boyfriend’s and very lightly traveled over his face. “Plus, I get to spend a few days in what’s supposed to be the most romantic city on earth with my boyfriend. Come on, man, where’s the problem there?”

“Mm. Guess you do have a point,” he acquiesced, tilting his head, each kiss more convincing than the last. “You know, there are catacombs under Notre-Dame that were pretty much begging for a mystery date. We’ll have to go back.” Wirt waited until he was close to his lips again before swiping a kiss of his own.

“Thank you for coming. For being you. I was just going to go home. After I saw what he did to Greg, I was ready to just bolt. But that would’ve made him feel bad, on top of everything else, I just know it. It’s better that we stay, but I wouldn’t have been able to if I hadn’t known you were coming. I would’ve run. I was ready to.”

“Anytime you need me, I’ll do what I can to be around. Even if it ends up in me being grounded for, apparently, the rest of my natural life.” Grinning, he framed Wirt’s face with his hands and rubbed their noses together. “So what’s the plan for the rest of the week, pilgrim? Just doing whatever we want? Do Amy and Jonathan have any idea what’s up?”

Wirt pursed his lips, guilt flickering across his features. “No. I thought about calling them while we were waiting for you, but I knew as soon as I talked to Mom I was just going to cry again and she’d probably insist we come home. It’s that mom effect, I dunno. I should call her. I will after we eat. And you’re not seriously grounded, are you? Do what you can, but don’t get yourself grounded,” he told him, stroking his fingers through his hair. “How are we going to be able to talk to each other if you’re grounded?”

“Nah. It’s not the first time I’ve been grounded for forever. Mom always talks him out of it. And we’ve got an international call card, by the way. Mom bought it for us at the airport, and we were supposed to call them when we got settled into the hotel. But I wanted to talk to you first and make sure you were okay.”

Though his smile was strained, it was a smile nonetheless. “I’m… I’m definitely better than I was. I haven’t completely shut down and I’m not having a panic attack or anything, so that’s… that’s pretty good for me.” He wrapped his arms around him more securely, dropping his head to rest on his shoulder for a minute, lips ghosting over his neck in a soft kiss. “Plus, being around you makes it a lot easier to feel okay. So I’m good. Call your mom so you don’t end up in more trouble, you reckless hoodlum, you.”

Dipper stroked his back, sighing quietly. Though his dad had told him at the top of his lungs that this wouldn’t be worth it, that he was wasting his time, it didn’t feel that way. It hadn’t felt like a waste while arguing with him, and it absolutely didn’t feel like one while he had his boyfriend in his arms. He opened his mouth to tell Wirt he loved him, a shiver going down his spine when the words lodged in his throat.

That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t going to let his dad take them away with his doubt. He didn’t know them. This would still matter in a year. _They_ would still matter in a year. “In a minute. In a minute. I- You’re worth it. You’re worth facing any sort of trouble. I love you,” he managed, and the shiver was relieved. “No matter what anybody says. I love you, and I mean it with everything I’ve got.”

Wirt pressed his lips more firmly against his neck before lifting his head to look at him. “I know,” he murmured, brow furrowing a little and he took over rubbing his back to soothe the shivers. “I know you do. Who’s saying you don’t?”

“Nobody. My dad during our shouting match after I woke him and mom up to tell them I'd just bought two tickets to Paris.” His shoulders moved restlessly. “But it's fine. He didn't mean it, and he apologized after.” Because Mabel had intervened. Mabel always had to intervene at some point, but Dipper gave him a smile and shrugged.

Wirt pursed his lips, concern not entirely waved away, then brushed them against Dipper’s. “He may not have meant it, but I bet it still hurt. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, seriously. We just... argue sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I know…” With a sigh, he eased back. “Just… if you want to talk about it, you can. I mean, you’re here listening to me whine about my problems, so it’s only fair I extend the same offer to you. Besides, I-” Wirt swallowed and gazed out at the rooftops of Paris. “You’re really important to me and it doesn’t have to be an end of the world type problem for me to care and want to take care of you. Conflict can really take a lot out of people, so… you know. If you’re still feeling shaken from arguing, then you’ve got me. If that helps at all.”

“It helps,” Dipper assured him. “It really does. There’s just nothing to talk about, just a normal argument. It wasn’t even that long. And I’m not listening to you whine about your problems. I came here for you, and asked you what happened and you’re telling me. That’s not whining, man.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But I’ll come to you whenever I need a shoulder, okay?”

“Okay.” His gaze shifted back to him, lingering on his lips before he lifted it to meet Dipper’s. “Okay,” he said again as he tilted his head, fingers curling around the nape of his neck, and drew him into a deep, slow kiss. _I love you._

Dipper sank into it, swept away almost immediately. His fingers bunched in his sweater at the small of his back, lips parting on a soft sound of acceptance as he let Wirt lead. He could feel the emotion flooding the kiss as well as he could the words, heavy and still unspoken, but he could feel them and let it be enough, let himself go pliant and his eyes slowly close.

Wirt tugged him closer, tongue slipping into Dipper’s mouth to be the one to entice and to coax more sounds from him. The hand at the back of his head stayed there while his other rested against his side at his waist, thumbing soft caresses through his shirt. He gave Dipper everything he could, allowing the world to melt away around them. Nothing mattered except how it felt to kiss this boy. His boy. His guy. His heart. Sighing contentedly into his mouth, Wirt began to draw back, letting his tongue flick over his lower lip before he suckled on it gently, eyes opening to flicker to his face to watch him, admire him.

Dipper's lashes fluttered, eyes opening partway. “I love you too,” he sighed.

His heart swelled at the added syllable and Wirt’s lips quirked up as he nudged them closer for a softer, shorter kiss. “I kinda just want to stay on this balcony with you forever,” he hummed, letting go of his neck to allow his fingers to skim over his cheek.

Lips curving, Dipper tilted his cheek into the touch. “I think the sibs would eventually gripe about that, but I’m all for it.”

“Yeah. Or they’d just come out here and try to smother me in cake and presents.” Wirt huffed out a laugh.

“Oh, no. Cake and presents on your birthday.” Dipper stuck his tongue out at him. “What’s the world coming to?”

“Alright, smart guy.” Wirt rolled his eyes and gave him a light shove. “I guess… I guess I don’t really feel up to celebrating, that’s all. I dunno. I know it’ll make Greg feel better though, so we can do the whole birthday thing with cake and presents, but I kind of just want today to be over, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. We’ll have a do-over tomorrow. Like Mabel said, it’s whatever you want to do. But I’m not gonna lie and say that I don’t kind of want to celebrate, at least some.” He cupped Wirt’s cheek and tugged his hat back on. “Sixteen years ago today, you started to exist. And that’s- that matters to me.”

Nuzzling against the gentle touch, Wirt let the words wash over him and soak in. He looked at him for a moment, his incredible boyfriend, and tapped his fingers against the bill of his cap. “It matters to me that it matters to you,” he replied, turning his head to place a kiss in the center of his palm. “I think I can manage a little celebrating then. For you. Since you’re so cute and I like your mind and face.”

Letting out a laugh, Dipper leaned back, planting his hands behind him as he gazed out at the city. His gaze drifted back to Wirt soon enough, as greedy for him as he was the sights. “Want to stay out here til they come get us?”

Drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, Wirt nodded, equally entranced by him. His heart fluttered at how at ease he looked, his smile and laugh all he needed to put the trainwreck of a day out of his mind. Well, that and as much contact as possible. He knocked their shoulders together, then lowered one hand back to rest atop Dipper’s.

Dipper glanced at their hands, content to leave his where it was. “So what do you want to do tomorrow? Like number one Paris thing.”

“Number one? Gosh, I don’t know…” Wirt’s cheeks colored at being put on the spot and he fidgeted. “We could do anything really and I’d be happy. I mean, just being with you and Mabel and Greg is more than enough for me.”

“No, come on.” Dipper straightened and gestured with his free hand. The City of Lights was living up to its name, the golden glow mesmerizing. “Look at this place. There’s a number one, and I want to know what it is. Let me give it to you.”

Wirt’s eyes lit up as he admired Dipper against the backdrop of Paris. “I…” He licked his lips, then pursed them as he shrugged. “I want… I want to see Palais Garnier. The uh… the opera house. Not a show or anything necessarily, I just want to look at it, you know? I want to see it in-person and maybe go on a tour? It’s the theatre the Phantom of the Opera’s theatre was based on, so it’d be cool if we could see the actual stage and stuff, too, as long as we don’t have to buy actual tickets or anything because that’d be way too expensive. But yeah. That’s number one, I think.

“But seriously, I’d love to see anything. Whatever we can. I mean, we’ve only got a few days and it’s not like you guys are gonna want to waste time just looking at an opera house. We could see the Luxembourg Gardens. The Père-Lachaise Cemetery. We’ll have to go back to the Eiffel Tower, of course. The museums- do you like museums? Like art museums? Catacombs, we’ll see the catacombs for sure.”

“I like museums. I try to read everything and Mabel usually has to pull me away. You only saw some of it in Salem.” He grinned, then scooted closer to lay his head on Wirt’s shoulder and soak up his excitement. “I brought my laptop, by the way, so we can look up the... whatever you said - the opera house is a lot easier. We’ll look up when it opens and go there first thing so you can spend all the time you want checking it out. And then I guess work our way around from there.”

Wirt relaxed against him, leaning his cheek atop Dipper’s head. “Okay,” he replied, a little bit in awe of how easily Dipper accepted it. “Don’t- uh… be careful when you tell me I can spend all the time I want checking something out. I might actually take you up on that. Um… is there anything you want to see? In particular?”

“You know how you let me drag you basically everywhere in Salem? This is your Salem, man. The only thing I absolutely want to see is you having fun.”

“Yeah, but…” Wirt cut himself off, appearing unconvinced at first before he recalled the absolute joy and excitement he’d witnessed in Dipper in Salem and how infectious it was. He’d loved every second of it. His doubt faded as he turned that over in his head. He’d experience that feeling again in a heartbeat. Who was he to deny Dipper that same thrill? “Okay. Okay, but if we happen across something that does catch your eye, just let me know and we can check it out. Chances are I’ll probably want to see it, too.”

“Okay, honestly? Catacombs are on my list of must-go places, so I’m absolutely looking forward to that. And, as cheesy and lame as this is, I’d like to kiss you at the top of the Eiffel Tower.” He moved his hand from beneath Wirt’s to wrap an arm around his waist. “As long as those things happen, I’m happy.”

Wirt leaned into him, unable to hide the giddy grin that spread just from imagining that. “I’ll definitely let you kiss me at the top of the Eiffel Tower. There’s no question on whether that’s happening or not.” He waited until he had more control over his smile, then nuzzled him until he lifted his head so he could brush their lips together.

Then the balcony door opened. “Wirt! Dipper! Our food’s here!” Greg called out to them. “Come inside before Mabel, Jason Funderburker, and I decide to eat it all!”

Dipper groaned against his lips, but quickly lifted a hand to the back of Wirt’s neck to keep him from skittering back. “Be there in a sec, Greg.”

“Okay. But if some of your food’s missing, you’ll know why,” he told them, then shut the door as Wirt muffled a small laugh into their kiss.

“Like I care about that. You’re sweeter than cake,” Dipper mumbled. He searched Wirt’s eyes as he spoke, so relieved to find them happy instead of shattered, and let himself be enchanted by the way Paris made them glow. Fingers kneading the back of his neck, Dipper tilted his head and pulled him into a deep kiss.

Soft sounds were slowly coaxed from him as he pressed against Dipper, eager to return the intoxicating kiss. “Mm… Thought you wanted to celebrate though,” Wirt hummed, fingertips petting his chest.

“Aren’t we?”

Wirt curled his hands into Dipper’s shirt, unwilling to let him go. “Birthday kisses instead of birthday cake? I like your style, Dipper Pines.”

“I can’t think of anything witty to say back. You killed my brain again.” He rubbed their noses together. “I just keep comparing how you look now to how you did on our first date. The nymphs’ lights are all mysterious and cool. But right now it’s... it’s warm and familiar and- and exactly what I should be looking at.”

“Me in the lights of Paris?” His cheeks flushed under his gaze, though his smile didn't fade. If anything it brightened to rival their surroundings. “Your brain doesn't sound all that dead to me. That was... that was pretty poetic. You're exactly what I should be looking at, too. You're all I want to look at.” He tapped the bill of his hat, heart fluttering.

He snorted. “No, it wasn’t. I’m no writer, not like you.” With a grin, he pushed the bill of his hat back and leaned forward for another kiss. The impatient and meaningful tapping of glass behind him had him keeping this one brief and full of laughter.

“Come on. Let’s go find out what they decided constitutes a birthday dinner. Hopefully it’s better than what they served on the plane.”

“Well, the fact that there's cake automatically makes it better, don't you think?” Wirt got to his feet and held out his hand so he could clasp it in Dipper's. “Though we did trust the two people who think peanut butter and cotton candy are an acceptable combination of flavors.”

Snickering, Dipper rolled to his feet and gave his hand a squeeze. “If it’s awful, we’ll just order something different and come right back out here to make out some more.” He hummed, smile wicked. “Kind of hoping it’s awful.”


	5. Chapter 4

It wasn’t. Mabel, in all her wisdom, had convinced Greg that simple was better. They’d have a real birthday meal the following day, and what had really mattered that night was the cake. The four of them ended up with an array of appetizers as a result - a meat and cheese platter, French bread, mini sandwiches, and escargot because Mabel had been dying to try it. The twins still dared one another to eat it, so went in unison and were both pleasantly surprised and laughing.

The meal was full of laughter, four friends who loved each other dearly unexpectedly reunited and all determined, in their own ways, to make every moment memorable. The twins also made it a point to touch Wirt as much as possible, reaching for him, nabbing his hand, tugging his sleeve, resting hands or cheeks in his shoulder, or just plain hugging him. Just little things to remind him that he had their attention and their love. Greg, of course, got much the same though he was more cuddles than casual touches. While the combination of tylenol and ice had left his face considerably less puffy and a more pink than red, they still couldn’t forget that the boy had been struck.

When full, Mabel couldn’t stand another second. “Dipper, call mom and dad. I’m gonna get out Wirt’s presents.”

“Why do I have to call?”

“You have the phone card thing!” She shoved him towards the phone and went for their suitcases.

He couldn’t argue with that, but leaned down to brush a kiss to Wirt’s cheek before tugging the card from his back pocket and plucking up the phone. He’d read the instructions enough times to know what he was doing, and could only hope that it was his mom who answered.

It wasn’t. He grimaced, tugging on the bill of his hat as he turned away from the others. “Hi, dad. Where’s mom?”

Mabel winced at his flat tone.

While hesitant to listen in on the conversation, Wirt’s concern was piqued from their conversation on the balcony and Mabel’s reaction didn’t make it any better. The comforting touches had left him pliant and at ease, but that slipped away as he straightened and watched Dipper angle himself away. Closed himself off.

Aside from taking Greg out onto the balcony to give Dipper some semblance of privacy, there wasn’t much Wirt could do to avoid listening in, and he was loathe to do so anyway. Eager to give back some of the care he’d been given since they’d arrived, he got up and went to his side, hand resting against the small of his back. It wasn’t much, but he could offer his support.

Dipper glanced at him, trying to relax shoulders that had tensed while his dad spoke. Their volatile argument still hung too freshly in his mind. They didn’t happen often, but it was enough. “Okay. O- Just- Wh-” He pressed his lips together, leaning into Wirt. “Will you let me _talk_?” Apparently not. He lifted a hand, twisting the bill of his hat, and fought not to just hang up on him.

“Listen, I- Listen- _Lis_ -” Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut- “What?” His shoulders sagged, and he reached for Wirt’s free hand, lacing their fingers. “Wait, _you_ did? Okay. But-” The sag didn’t last long, tension creeping right back in. “No, I don’t, and I’m not _going_ to regret it. No. No, again. I’m not- I don’t _care_. Will you just tell mom we called? Fine. Can we just-”

He dropped Wirt’s hand to push his hat back, fingers delving beneath his bangs to rub at his brow. He bit his lip, suddenly unsure how he was supposed to feel. “Yeah, well... I’m not sorry. You can be, but I’m not. Uh-huh. I-” There was a beat of silence on both ends. “You too,” he mumbled, leaving out the most important part of the sentence, “love” hard to choke out when it was his dad.

“Mabel, phone.” He tossed it and the conversation that started after was immediately more chipper. “Sorry,” he said to Wirt, rolling his shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Wirt shook his head, hesitantly placing both hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. He started to knead at least some of the tension out of him. “You… you okay?”

“Yeah, you know. What’s a fifteen year old know about genuine emotions and how to properly express them? Chemical reactions the body’s just learning to handle and blahblahblah.” He banded his arms around Wirt’s waist, moving closer to him to accept what comfort was offered. “But he got our absence for the week cleared through the school and apologized for being a jerk, so that counts for something.”

“I guess…” Wirt murmured, brow still furrowed as his fingers pressed in firmly, then paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for problems with my dad to cause problems with you and your dad. If you want I could talk to him? Maybe? Explain what… what happened and that it was my fault that you bought a plane ticket in the middle of the night,” he offered, arms looping around his shoulders as he glanced away, his nerves crackling at the idea of speaking to a man he never met over the phone after giving him cause to chew out his own son over a relationship he apparently didn’t believe was valid - though in his defense, he didn’t know Wirt personally, he reasoned to himself, but that didn’t really reassure him.

“No, man, that’s okay. He apologized already, so this’ll blow over by the time we get back home.” Dipper pressed a kiss to his cheek, then rested his on Wirt’s shoulder with a sigh. “Pretty sure he’s more mad about us missing a whole week of school than anything.”

“Yeah, guess that’d do it,” he agreed, but something still didn’t sit right. He didn’t know what, but he forced it down at Dipper’s own assurances. What did Wirt know of their family dynamic anyway? What did he know of kids and their dads outside of secondhand accounts and a recent attempt to actually bond with his step-dad. So he settled for hugging Dipper tighter and let his eyes close, so selfishly glad he was here and not at school. “Mom and Jonathan would probably chew us out if we ran out on a week of school, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Mabel was saying, swaying side to side. “Okay, daddy. Yep. Uh-huh. I love you too! Bye!” She hung up, smile bright when it landed on the very curious Greg. It didn’t falter when she looked back at their brothers, but a brief shadow passed over her eyes. “Dad doesn’t sound so mad anymore, so that’s good. Cooler heads are prevailing!”

Greg glanced between her and them as well. “So… you’re not in trouble anymore and no one’s gonna make you go home? Sometimes I have to go home if I get in trouble, so I don’t want that to happen to you. You just got here!”

“Nobody was ever gonna make us go home,” Dipper assured him, giving Wirt a squeeze before withdrawing. His grin came easily. “And we were never really in trouble.”

They - or Dipper, really - had indeed been in big, serious trouble. But Mabel let him have it, shaking her head with a giggle. “We’re too stubborn to be in trouble, Greg. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” He perked up at that. “Can we do presents now and then call our mom after? Mom probably wants to say hi on your birthday, Wirt.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll call her and you can talk to her, too, Greg.” Wirt nodded, gaze going to his pink cheek. “I’m sure she misses you.”

“I know she misses me.” He puffed out his chest with a firm nod.

“Presents!” Mabel shoved the worry aside but for a quick meet of Dipper’s gaze. He smiled, so hers brightened. “You have to open mine first. You may have guessed what it is already, but you’re only half-right.”

“Oh my god, Mabel.” Dipper nabbed the two gifts he’d wrapped and dropped onto the corner of the bed he was debating pushing closer to the wall. It was stupid and he probably wouldn’t, but he really wanted to. “Don’t spoil it.”

“I’m not spoiling anything. I’m preparing him.”

“I definitely appreciate being prepared,” Wirt chuckled.

“Open my present second, Wirt!” Greg bounced onto the bed across from them, a small, ball of wrapping paper pulled from his pocket. He tossed it to Dipper for him to catch while Wirt sat cross-legged beside his boyfriend. “Is that okay, Dipper? Can I go second?”

“It’s fine, shortstop. He wasn’t supposed to be getting mine and Mabel’s til you guys got home anyway.”

Greg preened and wiggled happily as he watched his brother take the presents that Mabel offered him. Wirt’s cheeks colored as he glanced between the two of them, noting that Dipper had two as well. “Guys…”

“It’s your sixteenth birthday, Wirt.” Greg threw a pillow at his face, the most effective way to wipe the hesitance from it. “It’s one of the most important ones. If I was getting that many presents, I wouldn’t feel bad about it.”

Wirt raised an eyebrow as he tossed the pillow back at him. “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t.”

Mabel giggled, waving her hands. “Open them. Come on, I’m dying. Not that one, the other one. Open it.”

“Okay, okay.” Wirt’s lips quirked up at her eagerness and carefully pulled at the edges of the wrapping paper.

His smile only widened as his gaze fell upon the fabric of a Mabel Pines’ Original Sweater. He unwrapped it fully and draped it across his lap while he felt along the woven, diamond shaped ridges over the center of it. It was all one color, a tasteful goldenrod that was bright enough for Mabel’s taste and still not so gaudy that Wirt would feel uncomfortable. He really liked the orange-ish hue to it. Grinning, he held it up to gauge the fit, despite already knowing it would be perfect, she had his measurements still and he hadn’t grown at all since the music note sweater had been knitted.

“I love it,” he told her. “This is tomorrow’s sweater.”

She pressed her fists to her own cheeks, bouncing in place. “Good! Yay! I’m so glad you like it! Do you really like it? I wasn’t a million trillion percent sure about the color, but it’s for your birthday and you’re sixteen, so go bold or go home!”

“It’s a great color. I am all for this color,” he laughed, gentle as he folded it and set it aside on the bed. “I can handle the occasional bold sweater. Not that that’s an invitation to do something completely ostentatious,” he added, starting in on the wrapping for the second gift. “There’s a difference between bold and scary.”

“I’ll give you a sweater covered in kittens next year, and you’ll wear it. Just wait.”

Dipper snorted, as eager as Mabel for this second present. Neither had been completely certain how he would react to it, so both bit their lips and held their breaths.

Wirt’s gaze flicked between them both, his own anticipation rising as theirs filled the air around him. As he peeled the wrapping away, almost expecting another sweater, his breath caught as he realized the fabric revealed to him wasn’t exactly sweater material. He lifted it up immediately, eyes rounding as he took in the dark, deep blue cloak. Similar to his Halloween costume in style, but completely it’s own thing entirely, this cloak was darker, lined with red and gold braids woven into the edges. His fingers skimmed over the smooth cloth and toyed with the braids, eager to drink it in by sight and touch.

“Wow,” he breathed, struck by a sudden wave of nostalgia only made better by the fact that this was new. This was his. It wasn’t some hand-me-down, a World War I relic that he’d fashioned into a costume to make himself feel brave and confidant. This was made for him. And it was everything he could’ve wanted. “ _Wow_.”

“Crap. He should’ve opened that one last,” Dipper realized.

Mabel squealed. “He likes it! Oh my gosh! I was so-” She squealed again, bouncing around the room. Jason Funderburker was scooped up from the table for a delighted hug. And then she bounced right back to Wirt and gave his cheek a smacking kiss. “Happy birthday! I love you, sweetie. I’m so glad you like it!”

“I do, I-” Wirt was taken aback by her delight, but not so much that he didn’t let the cloak fall to his lap so he could wrap his arms around her for a hug. “Thank you. Thanks, Mabel, I didn’t even know I wanted something like this. It’s incredible. This and the sweater and- and you just _being_ here. Thank you.”

She hugged him back, holding tight. “No matter what happens, we’ll be there for you. Mystery Best Friends all the way.”

Wirt nodded, relishing the contact and the promise. “Right. Mystery Best Friends.” He leaned back, offering her a smile and a squeeze to her arms. “Thank you, really.”

“You’re welcome.”

As she leaned back, Dipper plucked up the cloak and tossed it over Wirt’s shoulders, hooking the clasp with a smile. “There.”

“Wirt the Pilgrim!” Greg stood up on the bed, bending in a bow as Wirt hugged the cloak to himself, pleased by the weight on his shoulders. “You’re just missing your hat.”

“I think I can manage being a pilgrim without my hat,” he told him, flashing Dipper a grateful little smile, then then held his hand out for the small package Greg had tossed over to him. “What do you think?”

“You’re always the pilgrim.” Dipper passed over the present and pressed a kiss to the corner of his smile. “My poetic pilgrim.”

“Hope that’s not still your password.” He was just as careful with the haphazardly wrapped gift as he was with Mabel’s, glancing over at Greg when he jumped down from the bed to join them and get a better view.

“I made it by myself!” Greg puffed up his chest proudly as Wirt removed a small, felt bluebird hanging from a keychain. “Well… Mom might’ve helped a little bit, but I picked out the felt and it was my idea to make it a keychain ‘cause you’re sixteen and can drive now! So you’ll need something to put your keys on. And this way it’s kinda like a present from Beatrice, too! I’m okay with sharing.”

The little stuffed bluebird was definitely made in the likeness of the one they’d befriended in The Unknown. Wirt stroked the seam along the top of its head, cradling it carefully in his palm. He looked up at Greg and grinned, then held out his arm to him and his beaming little brother nearly tackled him with his hug.

“Thanks, Greg. I’m definitely putting it on my keys as soon as I get some. Until then is it okay if I loop it on my satchel?” He squeezed him tightly.

“Yeah! I’ll do it for you while you open Dipper’s present!” Greg let go of him and slid off his lap to go grab the bag from across the room.

Dipper pushed them both into his lap, pink dusting his cheeks. “It, uh, it doesn’t really matter which one you open first?”

“Open the big one,” Mabel urged, giggling at his embarrassed glare.

“What is it?” Wirt couldn’t help his delight at the sight of his blush, taking hold of the larger present. He felt through the paper, arching a brow as he noted that the shape wasn’t entirely consistent. Intrigued, he started opening it as Greg rejoined them, and his jaw positively dropped when it was the pendulum he revealed first. “Oh my gosh,” he gasped, no longer taking his time as he unwrapped the rest of the clock. “You didn’t. You- it’s _beautiful_. You got me a clock!”

Beautiful couldn’t even adequately describe it. It was a rich ebony in color with intricate bronzed, cast iron detailing from the finial to the base and everywhere in between. Delicately crafted flowers flowed seamlessly with the antique French design. Above the pendulum was the clock’s face, with thin hands and clean roman numerals, then below was a barometer nestled in the dark wood. There were some chips, the wood wasn’t perfectly smooth, but it was perfect nonetheless. It was an antique clock that Dipper bought for him because he knew he collected clocks, weird interest or not, and he saw this somewhere and thought of him and-

His eyes welled up and he was struck with the need to hug the clock, to hug Dipper. Oh gosh, he couldn’t handle this. His touch was all reverence as he traced the curve of the iron curl on the bonnet before lifting his gaze to find Dipper’s.

“I don’t- I don’t even know what to say,” he managed to speak past the lump in his throat, voice thick and quivering. “I’m kinda afraid to see what else you got me because if it’s half as perfect as this I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.”

“It’s- I mean- I just-” Dipper scooted closer, banding an arm around his waist, cloak and all. “Don’t cry, okay?”

“He bought it yesterday,” Mabel blurted.

“Oh, no.”

“We were shopping with mom-”

“Mabel, no.”

“-and he was whining the whole time.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“And when we were finally heading home-”

“Do you have to?”

“-he saw it in the window and _squeaked_.”

“I did _not_.” He buried his red face against Wirt’s shoulder.

“It was really cute.”

“Oh my god.”

Their back and forth forced a laugh to bubble out of him, tearful as it was. Wirt own cheeks were red from the combination of adoring him so completely and trying very hard not to cry. He lowered his head to rub against Dipper’s as his boyfriend hid against him, cradling the clock in his arms.

“You saw it and immediately thought of me?” His smile was all fondness and love and a little bit of awe.

“Well... Yeah.” He traced a finger along the edges of the ornate carvings. “I mean, it’s not like I know anything about clocks, but it was pretty and you like them. And then, like, it was French and I knew you were here. So it kind of... fit.”

“It totally fits. It’s gorgeous and I love it and you- and you got me a clock because I like them even though you don’t know anything about clocks. Even though most people probably wouldn’t think to get someone a clock, you did because you care and-” Wirt forced himself to set the clock aside so he could bundle Dipper up in his arms instead, practically rubbing against him as he pressed close to him. “I can’t believe you. You’re incredible.”

“I don’t need to know to know about them to get you one. I love you, and I want to try and get you stuff you like.” Much of the embarrassment fled in the face of Wirt’s obvious delight, Dipper happy to return the embrace, hands stealing beneath the cloak to curl in the more familiar fabric of his sweater. “Next time I’m over, it’d better be on the wall.”

“It’d be on the wall now if I wasn’t here. It’s going on the wall the second I’m home. It’s the first thing I’m unpacking.” He hid his face in his shoulder, his turn to be embarrassed for getting so worked up over a present - presents - and he squeezed him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dipper brushed a kiss against his temple. “Happy birthday.”

Content to just snuggle against him for the remainder of the evening, already feeling completely overwhelmed by all this attention, a constant humming, a constant balm, ever since they got off the plane, Wirt was pulled away from him by Greg’s tugging on his cloak. “Wirt, you have to open Dipper’s other present still.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t know if I could handle his other present,” he replied, lifting his head, glancing between Mabel and Dipper. “I think I might have to mentally and physically prepare myself.”

“No, the second one’s boring.”

“Thanks, Mabel.”

She giggled. “No, it’s really cute, but it’s boring. You can handle it, Wirt.”

“Or I can open it for you and tell you what it is,” Greg offered.

Wirt snorted and shook his head, taking the second and last of the presents to turn around in his hands, though stayed close to Dipper, leaning against his boyfriend as he toyed with the wrapping. His eyes lit up when he found it was a leather bound journal. Simple, but perfect for poetry or whatever writing he felt the need to do and absolutely sweet and cute.

“It’s like yours.” Wirt beamed at him, pressing the book to his chest. “I can fill it with all my cheesy, romantic thoughts about you.”

“All part of my plan,” he teased, throwing the familiar phrase back at him with a grin. “But if you’ve got cheesy, romantic thoughts while we’re still here, skip the first page.”

Wirt blinked, then eagerly dropped the journal to his lap and flipped to the first page, heart fluttering at the mere idea of what he’d find. It was blank. Confused disappointment flickered on his face for a moment, then understanding forced his lips to part in a small “o.” He glanced to Dipper for confirmation of his theory. “You brought a blacklight with you, right?”

“I kind of forgot to grab one.”

“He forgot to grab the presents, too. We had to double back for those. And then he forgot his jacket. I think he would’ve forgotten clothes if I hadn’t packed for him.”

“Shut up, Mabel.”

“Never!”

With a chuckle, Wirt bumped his shoulder before letting his head tilt to rest against it. “Thanks for making sure he got here in one piece, Mabel.” He traced the blank page as if he was reading the words etched on it in invisible ink with his finger, pausing in the center to make the shape of a heart.

“And his clothes,” Greg added, giggling.

“You’re all the worst,” Dipper griped, all amusement as he brushed a kiss to the top of Wirt’s head and whispered, “Not everything I wrote in there is in invisible ink. Just by the way.”

“Yeah?” Wirt turned his head, chin propped up on his shoulder now so he could look at him, and while he kept his voice soft, his expression practically glowed with anticipation. He straightened so he could give him a proper kiss, lips lingering over his as he lightly caressed his cheek. “Guess I’ve got some bedtime reading to do then.”

“I might steal it and write more this week.” A blush dusted his cheeks, but he smiled through it and stayed close. “I’m really glad I actually got to see you open these, y’know? You’re seriously cute with presents.”

Wirt glanced away with a shrug, lips unable to help quirking up. “I don’t know. This was just… so much more than I expected, you know? I mean, I know you said you were going to mail me presents, but I guess it didn’t really sink in.” He met his gaze again, dropping his hand so he could find Dipper’s and lace their fingers together. “I’m really glad I got to open them with you here, too. I don’t think I could’ve thanked you properly over the phone or shown my appreciation. It wouldn’t have done it justice.”

“Mom and I would’ve recorded you opening them to send to them,” Greg piped up.

“I don’t doubt that, but it still wouldn’t have been the same.”

“Nope. And this way we got to save on postage.”

Dipper snorted. “Oh, yeah. Four grand on plane tickets instead of, like, five bucks of postage. We saved big.”

Mabel giggled. “Shush, you. It’s worth it.”

“Oh my gosh. Don’t remind me of how much you spent to get out here.” Wirt clapped his hand over his eyes as he groaned. “I’m going to have to quit school and get a full-time job to pay you back if you do.”

“You’re not paying us back,” the twins said in unison.

“Seriously,” Dipper added.

“It’s not happening, sweetie.”

“So you’ve said,” he replied, dropping his hand with a sigh and a little bounce. “Okay, right. Not paying you back. Not paying my dad back either when he gets billed for the long-distance call home I’m about to make.” Wirt pursed his lips as he glanced to the phone. “Hope he hasn’t told her anything yet. Probably hasn’t. He’d have to explain himself that way, and god knows he’s not going to accept the blame himself.”

“Are you telling her that we’re here?” Dipper wondered, grateful when Mabel hopped up to grab the phone for him so neither of them had to move. He wanted to stay as close to his pilgrim as possible.

Wirt hummed, passing the receiver back and forth between his palms. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I should unless you don’t want her to know. I just think she and Jonathan would feel better about us being here still if they knew you were here, too. I mean, it’s probably pretty scary to think about your kids basically being abandoned in another country, regardless of whether or not they forced it to happen.” His brow furrowed, creases deep as he stopped fiddling with the phone to grip it with both hands. “He just let it happen. He just let us- let _me_ make him abandon us.”

Dipper sat up, pressing closer. “Did you really give him a choice?”

“No. Not really,” he replied after a beat. “But what kind of person leaves two kids alone in a country they’re not familiar with? I’m a kid, what do I know what I’m asking for? I wasn’t even sure if you were actually coming.”

Oh, but he was so glad they had. He couldn’t imagine being in this hotel room, just him and Greg, still reeling from the events of the day with no distractions, no loving embraces, both wallowing in their collective failures. Greg’s in making sure Wirt had a good time and Wirt’s as a big brother and son. But that wasn’t what happened. They were all here. A little bumped and bruised, but together, and this was so much better than whatever half-hearted attempts his dad would’ve made had he not struck Greg.

Wirt let go of the phone with one hand to rub over his face, pausing when Greg piped up. “You knew what you were doing, Wirt. Even if Dipper and Mabel weren’t coming, you knew we couldn’t stay with him.”

His shoulders sagged as he leaned into his boyfriend who was there, who immediately hopped on a plane because he was crying and he wanted to be there for him. Well, when put like that it still painted Dipper in a noble light, but really just made him sound pathetic. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“I’m impressed,” Mabel added. “Even though you were hurting - and you still are and that’s okay - you managed to get all this together.”

“You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.” Dipper cupped his cheek, brushing their lips together. “You’re the pilgrim.”

Smile hesitant, but thankful, Wirt nuzzled his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. The pilgrim, right. The label suited, even more so with the comfortable weight of the cloak Mabel made for him over his shoulders. A pilgrim wasn’t a pathetic pushover, and he certainly hadn’t been that afternoon, crying or not.

“Okay,” he murmured, lifting one hand to cover Dipper’s and keep it against his cheek, the other dialing long-distance for home. “So it’s alright with you guys if I tell her you’re here?”

“Yep,” was chimed in unison.

Wirt nodded, then held the received to his ear and listened to it ring. Just like with Dipper earlier that day, the phone was picked up thanks to the long-distance number and the fact that their children were in another country. It was his mom who answered and Wirt’s heart felt like it was being squeezed when he heard her voice.

“Mom,” he greeted, voice suddenly tight. “Hi, it’s- it’s me. Uh. Hi. Yeah, I- I miss you, too. Thanks. Am I having a good birthday? Well, uh… it didn’t start out that way, but it’s… it’s good now. It’s great, it’s-” He bit down on his lower lip and squeezed Dipper’s hand. “Listen, Greg and I- we’re… we’re not staying with him anymore. With Dad. We left his hotel and got a new one.”

Amy Whelan’s higher pitched, “ _What_? What happened?” could be heard clearly through the phone. Wirt cringed a bit, hearing the panic in her voice as well as the suspicion. Like she knew something like this would happen.

“We couldn’t stay with him. Mom, I- he told me- he said-” He held the phone away from his ear as he winced. “Yeah… yeah, he did, but I’m used to that. That’s not why we left.” Wirt brought it back to his ear and sighed. “Mom, this was a business trip. He told me his firm planned it months ago and… and he brought me to… appease me. I guess. Because I’m so demanding apparently. Then he and Greg got in a fight and he- well, he treated him too badly for me to let stand, so I told him we wouldn’t stay with him. We’re in a new hotel now, I’ll let you know the name and number and everything, and we’re staying here the rest of the trip- no, no, not alone. Don’t worry. We’re not alone. Dipper and Mabel are here.

“Yeah. Yeah, Greg called them and they flew out here. Yeah, can you believe that? I know, they’re… they’re pretty much the best. They’re right here if you want to talk to them at all. You know, confirm they’re actually here and everything. So we’re okay. Greg’s okay and I’m... I’m okay. Yeah, no. Mom, I’m okay.”

His voice cracked and he sniffled. He knew his mom didn’t believe him, he didn’t blame her, he didn’t sound very convincing. “You want to talk to Greg?” he asked her hurriedly, tears clogging his throat and he had to let go of Dipper’s hand and turn his head away to wipe at his eyes. He needed a moment to compose himself. “He wants to talk to you. Here-”

“Hi, Mom!” Greg chirped, taking the phone from his brother as soon as it was offered. “I miss you! Dad too! Yeah, we’re okay. I made sure Wirt got cake for his birthday and we’re all doing a do-over birthday tomorrow! Yeah, with Dipper and Mabel! Oh! And they brought presents!”

Dipper wasn’t going to let him cry alone, not when he was right there. After a moment, he removed the presents from Wirt’s lap and climbed into it himself, covering them both in the cape Mabel had made too big on purpose. She couldn't extend this material as easily as she could a sweater, and had been insistent on giving him room to grow.

His hat was pulled off and chucked towards the pillows, a quiet show of trust before cupping his chin and giving him a sweet kiss.

Wirt’s arms found their way around his waist, fingers curling in his shirt as he clung to him, letting the kiss do its part to soothe. It broke on a hiccup, tears slipping down his cheeks and he shook his head as much as he could with Dipper holding his chin. “Sorry,” he told him, then shook his head again as more fell. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“You can be okay and still cry,” Dipper murmured, hand sliding up to stroke his hair instead. “I’ve got you, Wirt.”

He kept shaking his head, chest hitching with his attempts to hold back. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to cry in front of Dipper and Mabel and Greg. Even if they didn’t care, he cared, but when his lips parted to tell him that, an embarrassing, broken sound escaped instead. Inhaling sharply, shaking from it, he clapped his hand over his mouth to quiet himself as another forced its way out, the floodgates open. He felt stupid and small, wrapped up in a cloak like a child wrapped up in a blanket to hide from the shouting seeping into his bedroom through too thin walls, pretending to be invisible. He could hide in a blanket, he could be invisible. No one had to see him.

But he wasn’t alone in this blanket, in this room. He was surrounded. Wirt pressed his cheek to Dipper’s chest, shuddering through a silent sob this time as his body listened and kept quiet. Quiet, quiet, be quiet, Wirt. Be quiet. Stop stammering. Don’t speak. Don’t let them see you. If they don’t see you, they won’t fight. If they don’t hear you, they won’t fight. Be quiet.

He could hear Dipper’s heart and he rubbed his cheek against it, the steady rhythm reminding him to breathe even as he suffocated every sound. Tears still stained his cheeks and Dipper’s shirt as he clung to him, felt his heart, his breathing, his touch, his hand in his hair. He had him. Dipper had all of him.

“Dipper’s got him. Yeah. Yeah, he’s giving him a really good hug,” Greg was telling their mom, his boyfriend’s name slipping through as the edges of the one-sided conversation blurred in his ears. Like white noise. Like after slipping on ice, hitting his head, that ringing in his ears and he couldn’t hear himself then either. Couldn’t hear Greg. Couldn’t hear the shouting through his walls. “Okay, I’ll tell him. Dipper? Mom says to give Wirt an extra big hug and kiss from her.”

“Tell her not to worry. I've got him.” His voice lowered, lips brushing the top of his head. “I'll take care of you. I'll be here as long as you need me.”

“What if I always need you?” The words couldn’t stay locked in his head, whispered brokenly through his tears as he closed his eyes and trembled.

“Then I'll always be here. I love you. I'm only here for you.”

“I don’t want you to go. I need you. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” Both hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, soft pleas peppered in between the hitching of his breath. “I don’t want to be alone. I need you.”

Dipper's heart broke for him, arms tightening their hold. “You're not. You're not alone. I'm right here, and I won't go. I'll never leave you behind.” He shifted to wrap his legs around Wirt, pressing as close to him as he possibly could. “You’re not alone.”

“Dipper,” he sobbed harder, each sound ripped from deep in his chest, scraping his throat in his effort to suppress them. “Dipper, I- Dipper-”

He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, and in retrospect he would be relieved that he hadn’t. He didn’t want to say it like this. But in the moment it was another inadequacy, another reason why he wasn’t worthy of someone like Dipper and he was terrified that he’d figure that out someday. That someday he would go and nobody would blame him, least of all Wirt.

That didn’t mean he wanted that to happen though. Just the opposite, no matter how selfish it seemed. So he wrapped himself up in his promises the way they were wrapped up in his cloak and let them patch up the broken pieces that hurt. Eventually, the full-bodied shudders ceased and he didn’t have to force himself to be quiet anymore, it just happened.

His breaths were still heavy and shaky, face still pressed to Dipper’s chest, unable to even muster up the mortification that he’d cried all over him, was still crying all over him as the residual tears rolled down his cheeks. He was tired, exhausted, not only drained from the day but from the toll crying took on one’s body. All that mattered was that Dipper was there, just like he said he’d be. Wrapped all around him like he believed he could keep him from falling apart if he could just surround him completely. Slumped against him, Wirt slowly uncurled his fingers from his shirt so he could hug him back properly. This time when he rubbed his cheek over his heart it wasn’t out of desperation, but a wealth of affection. He stayed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, nestling closer to him. “For crying all over you. Not exactly the most… romantic thing, huh?” He attempted to play it off, give Dipper that out if he was done coddling him.

“What are you talking about, man?” Dipper nuzzled the top of his head gently. “Romance isn’t all ups. It’s downs, too. I love you just as much when you’re crying on me as I do when you’re laughing with me.”

Wirt blinked, the last of his tears falling as he turned that over in his head a minute. “That… that was a pretty romantic thing to say.” He tilted his head back to glance up at him for the first time since he started crying, a little in awe of him. “You really mean that?”

“Well, yeah.” He rubbed their noses together. “Did you feel any less for me after... you know, my nightmares this summer? I love you, Wirt. I love the whole package, okay?”

“But that’s…” Wirt swallowed thickly, brow furrowing as red-rimmed eyes searched his. “That was different. That was important. You’re important. You went through something awful, how could I not feel the same for you while you overcame it?”

“This is important, too. You’re important, too. When we overheard you on the phone, he talked to you like you were a mildly distracting... _thing_. I can’t even imagine how much worse it was today.” Dipper cupped his cheeks, thumbs caressing in soothing circles. “Nobody should ever talk to you like you don’t matter because you do. No one should ever make you feel worthless because you’re worth the world.”

He leaned forward, resting their brows together. “You’re beautiful even with red-rimmed eyes. You’re mine.” Their lips brushed together. “I want all of you.”

Wirt’s eyes closed. The close contact and tenderness in Dipper’s touch made him feel vulnerable and exposed and… he didn’t mind. His lips pressed back, seeking out another kiss, a soft sound escaping when he found just that.

“You have all of me,” Wirt murmured, content to lose himself in the cushioned cradle of his palms, the firm, steady anchor of his brow, and the warm whisper of his breath against his lips. He was all-encompassing. “You don’t have to want what’s already yours.”

“Better than wanting something I can’t have.” Dipper smiled, content to remain as close as he could get for as long as Wirt needed him.

Their noses brushed as Wirt nuzzled him and sighed quietly, limbs losing their tension and the quivering faded. “I want all of you, too. Still. Forever.” He opened his eyes, filling his gaze with only him. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel… like I matter.”

“That’s easy.” Dipper smiled, hands sliding from his cheeks to curl into the back of his sweater. “You _do_ matter.”

Wirt’s lips quirked up, answering smile small, but there as he sniffed and reached up to rub at his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by the tears collected on his lashes or from being squeezed shut so tightly before or maybe he was just tired, he couldn’t really tell. Licking his lips, the tang of salt still fresh, he pressed them together as he observed Dipper for a long moment, fingers brushing his against his shirt over his heart.

If there was ever a perfect time to say it, it was now. No longer the crying mess he’d been, his thoughts came a bit more rationally and his head confirmed what his heart already knew. He loved Dipper. He loved him completely, this boy who thought he was beautiful when he looked like a wreck, who held him while he cried. Who wanted him. All of him.

Wirt’s fingers curled in his shirt, holding tight as he tipped his head down, staring at Dipper in his lap, wrapped entirely around him. This was right. So right. He loved him. Wirt lifted his gaze to meet Dipper’s again, dark and deep and still shining, but rather than tears brimming his eyes it was love. It had to be. It spilled out of his heart and filled him, overflowing like a fountain without a filter, so he couldn’t have a filter now.

“Dipper…” Wirt took care with his name, each letter reverently wrapped by his tongue before leaving his lips, smile turning shy as it spread across his cheeks.

Then he yawned.

Mortified, absolutely mortified more by that than his crying, Wirt’s face flushed and he clapped his hands over his mouth again, eyes wide. “Um,” he squeaked, much like he’d squeaked out his yawn and he fidgeted. “That’s- that wasn’t- oh my gosh. That wasn’t what I wanted to-”

He broke off on another yawn, though this one inspired more of a flustered pout than complete horror at his body’s betrayal. It was ruined. He wasn’t saying it now. Once again, the moment had passed and the words - while strong and in every flutter of his heart - were locked behind the lump in his throat and would not be returning for some time.

Wirt sighed, rubbing his eyes again, definitely from being tired now. He couldn’t really be surprised by this. He’d been up early and with the stresses of the day… not to mention Greg needed to go to bed soon and Dipper and Mabel had to be exhausted, too, probably more than he was.

“I think- I mean, I should- but I want- uh… I think I should probably take my shower and we should all start to get ready for bed and stuff because you guys had a long flight and everything, but I…” He hesitated in the middle of his babbling, averting his gaze as he realized why the thought of separating to get ready for bed made him so anxious. “I don’t really want to… be away from you yet. I know it’s dumb. The bathroom’s right there. It’s not like I’ll be far or you’ll be far, but… I want to stay with you…”

“Showers are overrated. It can wait for morning. We should probably get changed, though, at least.” Dipper drew back carefully, covering the tug of disappointment with a smile. He’d seen the words, but it was alright. They were there, and that’s what mattered. He drew back, quickly capturing Wirt’s hands and lacing their fingers as he stood. “Want me to lean against the bathroom door while you change?”

“How pathetic would it be if I said ‘yes?’”

“It's not, man. Come on.”

Wirt uncurled and followed him up off the bed, flashing a surreptitious glance at Mabel and Greg. His brother had long-since hung up the phone and was sitting on the bed with her, showing off the pictures they’d taken thus far on their trip. Greg did look up to check on him, as did Mabel, while he and Dipper moved to their suitcases, but Wirt’s shaky smile did well to appease them both for the time being.

“Greg, you should… you should get ready for bed,” Wirt told him, mustering up some of his responsible, big brother tone. “And how’s- how’s your face feeling?”

“Right as rain! It doesn’t hurt at all anymore!” he assured him.

“Good. And how are you feeling… otherwise?”

“Fine. I just want you to be okay.” Greg ducked his head and picked at the comforter on the bed he and Mabel would be sharing.

Wirt swallowed and nodded. “I’m okay. Sometimes you just need a good cry, you know?”

“No. But I’ll take your word for it,” he replied honestly.

“Alright. You can also take your pajamas out and your toothbrush and stuff.”

“Captain’s orders?”

“Captain’s orders.”

Mabel stretched, covering a yawn with the back of her hand. “We’ve got a busy day of making up birthdays in store, corporal. We all need some sleep. Even you, Dipper.”

His tired eyes rolled. “Yeah, yeah.”

Wirt bumped his shoulder lightly as he gathered up his things to get ready for bed, only letting go of his hand to slip inside the bathroom. As he closed the door, he heard Dipper lean his weight against it just like he’d said and Wirt’s heart fluttered helplessly. _I love you._ He had to love the boy that would wait outside the bathroom for him just because he didn’t want to be apart, needy and vulnerable and clingy and all around a mess in the wake of his emotional upheaval.

Setting his things on the counter, he glimpsed his reflection in the mirror and cringed. Face blotchy and streaked with dried tears, nose an even brighter shade of red than usual, and the skin around his eyes appearing almost bruised, Wirt couldn’t help but stick his tongue out at himself.

“I’m seriously questioning your taste and standards for beauty right now,” he told the door, turning on the faucet. He cupped water between his palms and splashed his face with it over the basin of the sink. “Just thought you should know that.”

Dipper laughed, hugging his clothes to his chest as he watched Mabel help Greg sift through his suitcase to get his things. “I have perfect taste. It’s not my fault if your eyes don’t work right.”

“My eyes work just fine. I’m dating one of the most beautiful guys out there, aren’t I?” Wirt pressed a towel against his face and he exhaled heavily into it as he dried off. He looked a little better when he checked his reflection again, but the bags under his eyes couldn’t be so easily erased.

Shrugging it off, he pulled off his sweater and undid the buttons of his shirt. He slipped a long-sleeved pajama shirt on over his shoulders and fastened the buttons almost all the way up to his neck, leaving room to breathe. Even if it would be hot, he was craving the comfort of being completely covered. Once he was changed, toothbrush in his mouth, he knocked on the door to let Dipper know before he opened it, giving his boyfriend time to prepare himself and shift his weight so he wouldn’t fall.

“We’re just a nice looking couple, then. It’s settled.” Dipper kissed his cheek, amused. “Now switch. Lemme change, and then bed. I think I’ve gotten, like... five hours of sleep or something in the past two days. Should probably try and fix that.”

Wirt’s brow furrowed and he hummed. Stepping back, he spat his toothpaste into the sink and rinsed the bristles of the brush. “Definitely fix that. You’re going to need your energy to go traipsing around Paris with me.” Wirt slipped past him to allow him access to the bathroom, leaning against the wall beside the door. “Still have my bedtime reading though. Looking forward to that.”

“Did you write Wirt love poems like he writes you, Dipper? He wrote you like… five on the plane,” Greg piped up, dressing Jason Funderburker in a froggy nightcap for bed.

“I’m no writer, shortstop. so no.” He grinned at Wirt, though, before closing the bathroom door. “Does that mean I’ve got some bedtime reading too? I’ve missed getting sappy poetry texts.”

“Thought you would’ve been relieved to have a break from sappy poetry texts for two days, but yeah, if you want to.” Wirt shrugged, face dusted with pink as he ruffled Greg’s hair. “They’re alright. Not very long. Just little things that came to mind while I missed you. When the sun set and painted the clouds below in indigo.”

“Nothing I wrote is that long either, so that works out.” Dipper changed quickly, yawning before emerging with his clothes bundled under his arm. “Who’s up?”

“I’m showering, so Greg can go ahead. I’m not running around Paris with wet hair. I have to look cute for all the scrapbookortunities.”

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t ‘oh my god’ me, Dipper.” Mabel giggled, offering a freshly opened trash bag that would serve as their laundry hamper. “You have to have cute boyfriends in Paris pictures. And we can ask strangers to take pictures of all four of us like actual tourists!”

Wirt glanced at Dipper with a shy smile. “I’m kinda all for some scrapbookortunities, honestly,” he told him, shoulders hunched some as he pushed away from the wall and let Greg bound into the bathroom.

“Wirt, you’re going to become my favorite brother at this rate.”

“Mabel, you can’t pick favorites.”

“Wirt, you’re my favorite brother.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re my favorite sister, Mabel,” Wirt replied, ducking away to find his satchel and pull a small notebook from one of the inside pockets.

“Mine too!” Greg chimed in from behind the bathroom door.

“Woo!”

“You’re the only girl,” Dipper pointed out, curious, greedy gaze zeroing in on the notebook. “Of course you’re the favorite sister.”

She flicked her hair back. “Greg gets to be my favorite little brother.”

“Wow.”

Mabel giggled.

“Hooray!” Greg burst out of the bathroom all dressed for bed with a huge smile. “And Wirt’s my favorite oldest brother and Dipper’s my favorite not-as-old-but-still-old brother! Oh, wait! I got it! Wirt’s my favorite Worry Wirt brother-”

“Hey-”

“-and Dipper’s my favorite awesome adventurer brother!” Greg declared as he hopped onto his and Mabel’s bed with Jason Funderburker.

“Alright, Greg gets to be my favorite sibling now.” Grinning, Dipper swung him and the lucky frog up, rubbing his cheek against Greg’s uninjured one affectionately.

Mabel laid a hand over her heart, offended. “I was gonna say that you’re my favorite twin, but nope! I have no twin!”

He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Jason Funderburker’s my favorite twin. We share the same birthday,” Greg told them both, happily rubbing his cheek back to Dipper’s as he held up the frog. “Six more weeks of winter!”

“We’re not even at the end of summer yet, groundhog. Hold off on your winter forecasts until October at least.” Wirt collected his presents from the bed, setting them on one of the chair’s cushions with the utmost care. All except the cloak. He brought that back to the bed and spread it like a blanket.

“Besides, we don’t want six more weeks of winter, baby.” Mabel gave Jason Funderburker a pat. “The faster summer comes again, the better.”

“Summer will come just as fast if there’s six more weeks of winter or not,” Greg pointed out. “That just means there’s less allergies and more snowball fights.”

“Shush. There’s no time for logic here.” Mabel gave his bruised cheek a featherlight kiss, gathering her bundle of clothes. “Dipper, go to bed.”

“Oh my god. Take your shower, hairball.”

Laughing, she flounced into the bathroom and shut the door. Dipper rolled his eyes. “You want to hang out with me and Wirt in our bed til she’s done?”

“Yeah!” Greg grinned at him. “If that’s okay with you and Wirt.”

He looked to his brother for approval and received a smile as he gave the bed a pat. “Of course it’s okay. It’ll be like a pre-sleepover sleepover.”

“Wow! I call middle of the bed! Oh, but Dipper, which side are you going to sleep on? There’s two edges!” Greg pointed to one side of the bed, then the other. “Are you guys gonna rock paper scissors for which one’s the better edge?”

“No.” Dipper flicked his gaze about the room, thinking quickly. A threat was more likely to come from the door. Not that there’d be a threat. He was being stupid. But the right side was closer to the wall, and the left closer to Greg and Mabel. He dropped onto the left side, keeping Greg and Jason Funderburker in his lap for the moment. “This works.”

“I’m good with it,” Wirt agreed, slipping under the covers on the right side, his new journal and his old notebook both hugged to his chest as he leaned against the headboard, smiling at his boyfriend and little brother.

Greg nodded, setting their frog on the bed so he could wrap his arms around Dipper’s middle. “I’m good with it, too!”

Dipper wrapped an arm around him, giving him a squeeze. His free hand reaching out, fingers entwining with Wirt’s. It wasn’t exactly right, already keenly aware of the gap between his boyfriend and the wall, but he could live with it for now. He was too tired, more than he’d thought he was.

But the danger seemed to have passed. Wirt was smiling easily, Greg didn’t seem damaged, and they had the rest of the week ahead of them. A totally unexpected week to spend together. “Glad everybody’s good with it. Notebook. Gimme.”

Wirt raised an eyebrow while Greg laughed. “What? No please?”

“Please don’t be a brat, and give me the notebook,” Dipper teased, sticking out his tongue.

Just as eager to read whatever was in his journal, Wirt handed it over. “They’re um… I dog-earred the most recent page I worked on, so go back six pages from that and you’ll find the first one.”

“Okay. Mine’s just... It’s just kind of dumb little stuff.” He shifted Greg to the middle with his frog and shimmied beneath the blankets, playfully tossing them over the boy’s head before opening to the dog-eared page and flipping back. It was hard not to go back further than the six pages, but he didn’t want to pry. Well, he did. He very much did, but he wouldn’t.

“Psst!” Greg flipped the covers back off his head and poked Dipper’s arm. “I won’t tell if you read the other stuff in there, too,” he whispered, trying to be quiet, but Wirt still glanced their way with an arched brow as he opened the journal to the first page once again.

Dipper ruffled his hair with one hand. “Next time,” he faux-whispered back and smiled at his boyfriend’s handwriting as he read.

 _I’m reminded of you in the smallest of doses -_  
_not to suggest these delicate details be trifling,_  
_as all that you are has all that is me engrossed._  
_You could never be anything but enlightening._  


_Within the yellowed pages of a book I am mislaid,_  
_found only when fingers seek your silken curls –_  
_nestled in my lap, basking in a blanket of afternoon rays_  
_you stretch in the sun – and my longing unfurls._  


_I find little pleasure when I walk alone,_  
_the casual curve of your arm absent from my waist_  
_and the captivating cadence of your laugh a mere echo._  
_In this newfound lack of you, I ache for your embrace._  


_Not rose-colored lenses are my eyes covered by_  
_But in hues of you – in summer skin, idle gaze_  
_your clever lips as they part on a fatal sigh_  
_whispers of peaches in each claim of a kiss suspend me in a haze_  


_These pieces of you are my late night delight and afternoon cocoon._  
_Each token mine to treasure, the smallest of doses._  
_Reminders when I need your warmth, reminders that have me swoon._  
_Reminders that remind me of my need to hold you close._  


_The horizon’s edge is cornflower blue_  
_and reminds me how much I’m missing you._

There were erasure marks on the page. Little dots and lines of hesitation surrounded the words. An entire line was crossed out in the middle, it’s replacement off to the side. They were little signs of effort, and they made the poem all the more special.

Dipper lifted both gaze and smile to Wirt. “On the way here, I was kinda freaking out, but this is all I’m gonna think about on the flight home.”

Wirt glanced over at him, his lips pursed together tightly in anticipation and hope that he’d like it. “Is that the uh… that the one about how the color of the sky basically reminded me of your hat and then pretty much everything else about you?”

His smile widened, pink stealing across his cheeks. “Not yet. But that sounds really sweet. I’ll probably mean that about all of them when I’m done.”

“O-oh. Yeah, um, fair warning there’s a lot of blue and pine tree imagery in that one. A lot of me wishing there were pine trees in the sky and stuff like that.” Wirt’s blush matched Dipper’s. “You liked that one though? Whatever one you just read?”

“The first one, the reminder one. I liked it, yeah.” Dipper reached out, fingertips stroking the curve of his cheek before turning the page and losing himself in the next poem.

Pleased by his boyfriend finding enjoyment in his poems, Wirt exhaled slowly and patted his heart as it skipped a beat. Regardless of Dipper’s claims that he’d like them, it was always nerve-wracking when he was there with him as he read, watching him take the time to read them as he waited for his reaction. Wirt craved his opinion of them to a rather ridiculous degree. He exchanged a relieved smile with Greg, his little brother shaking his head at their supposed silliness, then focused on flipping through the pages in the journal, eager to read what little tidbits Dipper had written in it for him to find.

Dipper glanced up as he heard pages turning, unable to tell Wirt where his notes were as the pages he’d written on had been chosen at random. He hadn’t expected to be there when his boyfriend found them all - declarations of love, phrases and quotes he liked, paragraphs about little shared moments over the summer and why they’d mattered to him.

And, of course, sketches. Two hands holding, Wirt’s face when his nose scrunched in a laugh, Jason Funderburker, a bust of Mabel with Greg on her shoulders, his own rendering of one of the multitude of pictures Mabel had taken of them dancing.

He felt dumb about all of it, biting his lip and toying with the corner of Wirt’s notebook. What had seemed like cute ideas at the time now seemed silly as he waited for judgement.

Each page that was uncovered had Wirt’s breath catching, cheeks permanently stained with pink as his gaze drank in every image, every word, every splotch of ink Dipper dedicated for him. Well-aware of Dipper’s eyes on him, Wirt couldn’t even squirm under the scrutiny or feel embarrassed by the staring. He was completely immersed in finding page after page, greedy for each tiny glimpse into his boyfriend’s mind that he believed belonged solely to the written word. There were some things that could only be conveyed on paper and that was certainly the case here.

He hadn’t realized how far Dipper’s artistic abilities stretched, soft coos born of wonder flitting past his lips as he traced the lines with his eyes, hesitant to touch them for fear of smudging long-since dried ink. The way he saw him, the way he drew him, it wasn’t like anything he’d ever known. His love was clear with each stroke. His meaning clear.

Dipper took his time to create each page. Sure, the sketches and the words didn’t always go together and he went off on tangents, but it was him. It was all Dipper while he’d been thinking of him. The sound he made upon discovering that he’d read the last of Dipper’s notes to him was almost a sob as he closed the journal, his journal, and hugged it to his chest once again. Only then did he meet Dipper’s gaze, brimming with happiness as he pressed it close to his heart.

“I love it. The whole thing. Every page. I love them all.” _I love you._ “You’re incredible.”

“Oh. But I’m-” _Not_. Dipper cleared his throat, blush flooding his face. “You liked it? Really? It’s kind of- It’s a jumble of dumb.”

“It’s not dumb! None of it’s dumb! It’s a book of love letters! It’s beautiful and I love it and I’m keeping it forever.” Wirt nodded, lips set in a firm line of determination.

Smile tilting towards shy, Dipper ducked his head and plucked at the blankets. “Okay.”

He was saved from further embarrassment when the bathroom door swung open, steam and Mabel both rolling out. Her expanse of hair was as dry as it could get with a towel, but she was too tired to turn on the hotel-provided hairdryer. She laughed, all three of her boys - plus one lucky frog - hunkered in bed together. Her camera was grabbed quickly, a picture snapped. “You guys are so cute.”

“I don’t know. They’ve both been acting like pretty ridiculous waffles this whole time,” Greg piped up, gesturing to the both of them.

“It’s their best setting,” Mabel pointed out, plugging in her camera so it could charge. It would be the biggest sort of tragedy if it died during their adventures the next day.

“We’re not ridiculous.” Wirt rolled his eyes, only relinquishing his hold on his journal when Greg wiggled out from under the covers so he could hug him.

Once he was bundled up in his arms, Greg pressed a firm kiss to his cheek. “I love you, Wirt. Happy birthday,” he told him quietly, as quietly as Greg could that is.

Wirt swallowed thickly, letting out a long breath as he nuzzled the top of his brother’s head before brushing his own kiss against his hair. “Thanks, Greg,” he whispered, arms tightening around him. “Thank you so much.” For being there, for calling Dipper, for forgiving him, for loving him.

“Anything for you, brother o’ mine.” He gave him a pat on the back, letting him hold him as tight as he wanted for a few seconds longer than usual since it was his birthday and Greg couldn’t really complain about getting a really good hug after the day they both had. When he decided it had gone on for too long, he dug his knee into Wirt’s side and wiggled until he laughed and let him go, then crawled over to Dipper. “Goodnight, Dipper!” Greg chirped, hugging him next.

Dipper gave him a tight squeeze. “‘Night, Greg. I’m glad you called me.”

“I’m glad I called you, too. It was the right thing to do.” He nodded to himself, then leaned back to give Dipper’s cheek a kiss as well. “Thanks for being an awesome big brother and boyfriend and coming to see us.”

“I’ll always come when you need me.”

“Me too.” Mabel swung Greg up, taking Jason Funderburker when Dipper passed the frog to her. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Mabel. For everything. Sleep well.” Wirt smiled softly at her, taking up the journal again as he watched the two of them climb into the bed they’d be sharing, the bedside lamps the only lights left in the little Parisian hotel room.

“Anytime. Promise.”

Without Greg between them, Dipper scooted closer and slunk down to rest his head on the pillow. He couldn’t keep Wirt safe between his body and the wall, but he could be nice and close. “I like your plane poetry. All of them.”

“Yeah?” Wirt rubbed his thumb over the leather of the journal’s binding, then tucked it under his pillow before turning on his side to face Dipper, curling just as close to him. “They’re not cute love letters and pictures, but… I don’t know. Couldn’t stop thinking about you once I started. You’re a great subject to write about. Give me lots of inspiration. Y’know, since you’re so beautiful and all…”

“I’m- wow.” The notebook was tucked under Dipper’s pillow and he rolled onto his side, hooking an arm around his waist. “They’re amazing poems.” He nudged their brows together, eyes closing. “Happy birthday, pilgrim.”

“Mm… goodnight, Dipper.” Gaze half-lidded and heavy, he watched him as he tangled their legs together and draped his arm over his shoulder, fingers petting the hair near the nape of his neck. He was really so incredibly lucky to have him to love. Wirt closed his eyes on a sigh, settling into sleep. “Mon cœur."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The clock Dipper got for Wirt: http://barometersonline.biz/wp-content/uploads/Large_Antique_French_Cast_Iron_Wood_Pendulum_Wall_Clock_w_Aneroid_Barometer_02_fbjz.jpg
> 
> For those who are interested~


	6. Chapter 6

Still on California time, Mabel was the first one up the next morning, Dipper right on her heels. While she quietly ordered breakfast - French toast all around! - Dipper showered. When he was finished, Wirt was still very much asleep, so Dipper picked up his laptop and carried it to bed, sliding under the covers.

“What’re you looking up?” Mabel whispered.

“The, uh, the opera house? He wanted to take a tour.”

“Palais Garnier?”

“Yeah. How do I spell that?”

With a quiet giggle, she leaned over him and tapped the keys quickly, and he nodded. “Cool. He said the Luxembourg Gardens, and... a cemetery?

“The Père-Lachaise.” When he only tilted the laptop in her direction, she typed those in for him. “Are we going to try and hit all of those today?”

“Those were the main three he said, so I want to try. I mean, he said the catacombs, Eiffel Tower, and some museums too. But I want to get the main things in, y’know?” He shrugged while she nodded, placing her hands on her hips as she watched her brother type. “Figure I’ll look up transportation and stuff, see what he thinks when he wakes up, and book the tour if he’s up for it.”

“Okay. We could try the train. That could be more fun than taxis.” He hummed his agreement, thinking of the ride to Salem. Mabel continued, “Breakfast should be here soon. We can wake him up then.”

“Cool. I should be done, so-”

They both looked over at a familiar croak and the sound of sheets rustling, each grinning when the boy blinked open sleepy eyes, “Morning, Greg,” was whispered in unison.

“Morning.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes with his fists, then squinted at them before blinking rapidly, face lighting up - much more a morning person than his brother. “Oh boy! It wasn’t a dream after all! You’re here!”

Mabel giggled, bounding over to ruffle his hair and pull him into a hug. “You bet we’re here!”

“How long have you been up? Why didn’t you wake me? Did I miss anything?” he babbled, hugging back as he bounced with excitement.

Mornings never deterred Greg. Able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, he could wake up just as quickly. He grinned at Mabel and rubbed their cheeks together. Voice as chipper as ever, with no regard to the fact that his older brother was still sleeping, Greg giggled as Wirt’s face scrunched in his sleep before he rolled away from the noise.

“Aw, c’mon, Wirt! You’ve slept enough. It’s time to wake up!” Greg looked away from him to blink at Mabel, tugging on her sweater sleeve. “What’s for breakfast? I’m hungry.”

“French toast all around. Now come on. You didn’t get a bath yesterday either. I’ll get you some clothes.” She swung him up, hopping out of bed. “Food should be here by the time you’re done!” And hopefully it would give Wirt a little more time to sleep.

“Aw beans. Do I have to take a bath?” Greg crossed his arms as his brow furrowed over the injustice of it all.

“Yes, you do.” She danced him towards the bathroom, grinning. “If Dipper took a bath, you’ve got to.”

Greg could see the logic in that. “Fine. But only if Jason Funderburker gets to come, too!” He pointed to the frog and he obediently hopped along the bed and to the floor after them.

“Of course Jason Funderburker, too.” Mabel deposited Greg on the bathroom floor, holding the door open for the lucky frog. “I expect to hear that water running in less than five minutes, corporal!”

“Roger that, General Mabel!” He saluted before she closed the door behind them both. The water did indeed start running soon after, an order from the general taken very seriously.

Despite Mabel’s efforts though, Wirt had already been dragged away from the blessed oblivion that was dreamless sleep and was very conscious of the way he did not want to open his eyes just yet, still tired and warm under the blankets. He pushed his face into his pillow with a muffled sort of mumbling sound, knees drawn up and elbows tucked in as if he could wrap sleep around himself once more if he was small enough. There was a kink in his back that begged to be stretched out though, but stretching meant waking up and he absolutely didn’t want to do that yet.

Except he could hear the humming of Dipper’s laptop once Greg and Mabel’s conversation ended and as silly as it was, the sound made him want to see him and to see him he had to be awake. Sleep or Dipper? It was a conundrum to be sure.

The human half of the conundrum laid a hand on his side, stroking gently as his other hand flew over the keys and made plans. A two-hour tour started at eleven, which gave them ample time to eat, find the metro and get tickets, and still have time to explore outside the building. The few pictures he noted were interesting enough, and he wanted to be sure that Wirt saw every inch of the building. Not quite understanding why he so badly wanted to look at an opera house didn’t mean he couldn’t make sure it happened.

Then they could find a place for lunch, hit the cemetery, get to the gardens. And then maybe, just maybe, they could get to the Eiffel Tower at the end of the day. Good plan. He looked over at his boyfriend, fingers running through his awful sleep-mussed hair gently and with simple fondness. Good plan if Wirt liked it anyway.

“‘S too early for you to be thinking so much,” Wirt slurred sleepily, eyes still closed as he rolled onto his back and tilted his head into the light touch, facing where he believed his boyfriend to be. He could feel the plans pouring from him in waves.

“No, it’s not,” he murmured, grinning. “Want to take a tour of a fancy opera house?”

His eyes opened immediately so his gaze could find Dipper’s, interest clear despite still being bleary with sleep. “Yes.”

“Want to wake up and talk about seeing the fancy opera house?”

“Depends.” Wirt finally let himself stretch, pressing his head into the pillow as his back arched. As it ended, he rolled over to nestle against his side. “Can we talk ‘bout it and stay in bed still?”

“Have laptop, will cuddle.” Dipper shimmied lower, leaving the computer on his chest. “Train to fancy opera house, then to fancy cemetery, then fancy gardens. I think we have time for all three, if you do.”

“Mmhm.” Wirt draped his arm across Dipper’s waist, cheek pressed to his shoulder as he looked over the screen, not at all surprised at the lengths his boyfriend went to plan everything out, but pleasantly so that he’d done it for him. “You want to?”

“Yeah. Oscar Wilde’s in the cemetery, so that’s cool. And the whole thing looks like a huge, crazy maze.” He turned his head, brushing his lips to the top of Wirt’s.

“Fancy, huge, crazy maze,” Wirt added, smile curving as Dipper’s words really permeated his terrible, morning brain. “Are we taking a fancy train to all these fancy places?”

Grinning, Dipper nuzzled into his hair. “Obviously. Got to be as fancy as possible in fancy France.”

“Right, yeah. How could I forget something so obvious?” Wirt laughed, squirming in an attempt to get closer, settling for tilting his head back to press a kiss to the corner of Dipper’s grin. “Does that mean I get to share fancy kisses with my fancy boyfriend, too?”

“I can’t guarantee a fancy boyfriend, but you can have fancy kisses with me.” Cupping his chin to keep his head tilted, Dipper fit their lips together more securely. “Mm. Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning. Been up long?” He half-nodded towards the laptop, keeping his gaze on his boyfriend’s.

“Long enough to shower and throw this together.” Dipper released him to book their tickets for the tour. “Mabel ordered breakfast.”

“Yeah. Think I heard that. I think the entire hotel heard the exact moment that Greg woke up.” Wirt forced himself to sit up, stretching his arms in front of him as he leaned forward on the bed. He looked at Dipper over his shoulder. “How much time do we have before the tour?”

“It’s just a little after eight, so enough time to eat and get over there. The tour’s two hours.”

“Two hours?” Wirt perked up, eyes and smile bright before hesitation washed over him. “I… are you sure you and Mabel and Greg want to? I mean… I don’t know what I mean.” His lips twisted into a pensive expression.

He set his laptop aside, sitting up to tug him close. He rubbed their noses together, then their lips when he got the scrunch he wanted. “Be selfish today. It’s all about you. We’ll be fine, okay? We’ll have a good time if you do.”

“You say that now.” Wirt lightened his tone, smile sheepish as he shrugged a little, turning more serious. “I know. I’ve been trying so hard not to be selfish this past year that I’ve kind of gotten used to pushing things I want aside. Not that I don’t enjoy doing things that Greg or my friends want to do, too, it’s just that I get that not everyone’s into architecture or poetry or whatever. But I know this is my birthday do-over, so okay. If you say you’ll have a good time, then I’ll take your word for it.”

“Trust me, man.”

 

\----

 

Greg was pretty sure he’d never seen Wirt’s eyes get so big from something other than crippling fear or frantic worry before. Sure, he’d been excited, buzzing and brimming with excitement and euphoria when they’d been with his dad that first day, but it was nothing compared to the awe-struck wonder and sheer delight that swept across his features when they beheld the opera house. The very - Dipper called it ‘fancy’ and Wirt called it ‘opulent’ - big opera house.

If opulent meant fancy, then it certainly was that. “Wow,” Wirt breathed, his hands pressed over his heart, gaze flitting from statue to pillar to the shingles on the roof, unable to fixate on just one thing. “ _Wow_. Oh my gosh, I can’t even believe it’s _real_. It’s real!” He laughed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, then grabbed Dipper’s arm with one hand as he pointed with the other. “Look at Harmony and Poetry! They- wow, they look like they’re made from _gold_. Can you believe they’re made of gilt copper? Copper! That’s copper up there!

“And - I know they’re kinda hard to see from here - but those busts there- they- they’re actually bronze. Gilded bronze busts of all the major composers- well, not all of them.” Wirt waved that away as if that was a minor detail. “I mean they don’t have Chopin or Vivaldi or Tchaikovsky, but- but there’s enough of them! Mozart, Bach, Haydn, wow. This whole building is basically a tribute to all of the arts. Music, dance, drama, poetry- it’s all here! All wrapped up in a piece visual art, a sculpture in and of itself! It’s one big, Neo-Baroque work of art and it’s a _building_. People can turn _buildings_ into art.

“I mean, the embellishments are definitely meant to show off wealth and power, they’re not trying to hide that or anything, but the Baroque style was also intended to evoke an emotional response, like everything was created with a specific meaning in mind, within the domes and the symmetry of the external facade- I mean, just look at the apex and the way the statue of Apollo draws the eye right to the top of the gable there- it looks like it’s framed by Harmony and Poetry - to parallel the Holy Trinity since Baroque has a lot of ties to religious themes, specifically with Catholicism because that’s kinda how it got big - and those along with the Pegasus statues- I mean, it’s imperfect symmetry. Eclectic, eccentric symmetry. It’s- it’s _beautiful_.”

Wirt paused to take a moment to breathe, still clinging to Dipper’s arm, his string of babbling ending as he realized no one had tried to stop him from carrying on. He blinked, tearing his gaze away from the opera house to stare wide-eyed at the three of them, checking each of their faces, surprised to find their interest. Though Greg was pretty sure the interest was all in the fact that his brother hadn’t stopped talking for more than a minute rather than in the specifics of the building, though Greg had to admit it was a very nice building. Not as nice as the Eiffel Tower, but still pretty good. But Wirt’s obvious delight in it was way better than any sights Greg thought they would see. It was a relief to see he could still smile so brightly after how forced and mechanical and _drained_ he’d been the day before.

This was how his birthday needed to be spent. Seeing the things he wanted to see with people he loved and who loved him back. “It’s really cool, Wirt,” Greg chimed in, pleased by the way his simple praise made Wirt’s smile grow.

Mabel giggled, giving him a thumbs-up. “It’s neat. I didn’t know any of that.”

Her twin leaned over, pressing a kiss to Wirt’s cheek. “I don’t know how you know all that, but it’s kind of awesome. And cute.”

“I um… I read a lot of books on architecture.” He cleared his throat, pink dusting his cheeks as his smile turned shy.

“Okay. I don’t know anything about it, so...” Dipper freed his arm to lace their fingers instead. “You’ll just have to teach me.”

Wirt nodded, squeezing his hand. “Okay. I think I can do that.”

Though he tried to be quiet during the tour itself, soaking up the information offered to their group as they wandered through the majestic theatre, Wirt found himself babbling hushed, excited little tidbits regarding the sumptuousness of the interior design. From the hulking, seven ton, bronze and crystal chandelier in the auditorium to the tiny details like the choice of marble in the balustrade and staircase leading to the grand foyer, Wirt had something to share about it all and was eager to explain it to Dipper, whatever he could.

Whenever something new piqued his interest, something he hadn’t known before, he’d immediately look to his boyfriend with wide eyes and a beaming smile that conveyed his excitement more than his words could. And Dipper accepted it all. There were moments where his tangents would end abruptly, silences stretching on for a few seconds too long even when he had something to say, Wirt’s inclination for staying unnoticed, appreciating things quietly and alone sweeping over him to tighten around his throat and he surrendered to saying nothing, but it only took the squeeze of his hand or a bump to his shoulder or a hushed question from Dipper to get him out of his own head and back into the moment.

And it was a moment to treasure, surely. How many more opportunities would he get to be somewhere like Palais Garnier with three of his favorite people? How could he not want to spend every second living in this moment rather than wasting it away wondering if he was better off saying nothing? And it wasn’t just Dipper keeping his spirits up. Greg and Mabel did their part to encourage his delight, Mabel oohing over the sparkling, extravagant chandeliers when not striking silly poses in front of statues with Greg. Everyone managed to find something enjoyable along the tour. Not to mention during each and every one of Mabel’s squeals for scrapbookortunities afterwards, though Dipper may have protested some, joined by Greg only when the inevitable occurred.

“I’m hungry.” Greg tugged on Mabel’s sweater sleeve, Jason Funderburker tucked under one arm for safe keeping. “And so’s Jason Funderburker. Is it time for lunch yet?”

“Ooh. We could find a cafe on the way to Père Lachaise. Sit outside and people watch,” Mabel suggested.

“Oh boy, people watching? I love people watching! Almost as much as bird watching. Wirt and I made people watch bingo one time, didn’t we, Wirt?” Greg flashed a grin at his older brother. “Can we do that for lunch?”

Wirt tore his gaze away from the gilded moulding carved above him and offered them both a smile. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good to me,” he agreed easily enough.

Mabel scooped the youngest member of their group up, twirling him. “Woo!”

Dipper squeezed Wirt’s hand. “You even ready to go?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to go, so you guys should escape and drag me away while you have the chance,” Wirt chuckled, then tilted his head back to take it all in a final time. “Seriously though, yeah. Yeah, this was more than I even thought I’d get and it was amazing so... yeah, I’m ready.”

“Okay.” Dipper pulled him into a hug, resting their brows together and ignoring Mabel when she whisked out her camera yet again. “Happy birthday redo. Let’s get some food, man.”

“ _Avec plaisir_.” Wirt pecked his lips once, then a second time for a slightly longer kiss partly out of habit and partly for Mabel to take another picture. It was interrupted only when he couldn’t hide his smile any longer. “Okay, I’m good. Let’s go.”

“There are going to be so many kissing in Paris pictures,” Mabel cooed, hugging her camera.

Laughing, Dipper tugged out his phone. He was alright with kissing in Paris pictures since it meant kissing his adorable boyfriend. He flicked his fingers over his GPS program with a hum. “There’s, like, five cafes within walking distance. There’s a _Starbucks_. Are you kidding me?”

“Well, we’re not going to Starbucks.” Mabel giggled, taking Greg’s hand and looping an arm around one of Wirt’s. “Come on! Some of us are starving.”

“I think you mean all of us.” Dipper returned his phone to his pocket, taking Wirt’s hand to lead the way.

Blinking at the chain they created, Wirt was quick to tighten his arm around Mabel’s to keep from breaking it while he followed after Dipper. Mystery Best Friends. His family. People who had not only put up with two hours of fawning over interior design and architecture, but included him as one of the links, who flew all the way out there just to make sure he had a happy birthday. All of them had. Greg had decided to come all on his own, Wirt hadn’t asked him to. Wirt hadn’t asked any of them. But they were there. Because they wanted to be.

Wirt laced his fingers with Dipper’s to strengthen that link, too. He wanted them to be there, too. These were the people he wanted to spend birthdays and holidays with. These were the people who mattered.

“Holy moly, hot dog! There’s a cookie shop!” Greg shouted for joy as they crossed the street. “Wirt, we have to go in the cookie shop! Right, Mabel? Jason Funderburker demands cookies!”

“Lunch first, Greg. Then we’ll see about the cookies,” Wirt replied.

Greg didn’t even have to think about his argument. “I have a proposal. We make cookies our lunch. Everyone in favor say aye! Aye!”

While Mabel joined his vote, Jason Funderburker ended up betraying them both by croaking “nay” with those who opposed. They compromised in a fashion by checking out the cafe across from the cookie shop, ensuring that Greg would remember to remind them to stop by there on their way out, and ensuring that Mabel would remember to remind him in case the seven-year-old was distracted. If neither of them remembered, Wirt volunteered to be the back-up to their back-up plan. Cookies did sound like a good idea, after all, he had to give his brother that.

But then Wirt took in the green awning, the name of the cafe embossed in gold on the fabric and he hesitated. Cafe de la Paix did not look like it would be cheap. It took him a moment to remind himself that he’d been given - well, demanded to be given - money from his dad and that it wouldn’t be his money or his mom’s money or the twins’ money - which would be worse since they already paid for the plane tickets out there and the tour so he couldn’t possibly have that.

“I uh… I don’t know about this, guys… maybe we should try somewhere else?” Wirt cleared his throat as he caught a glimpse of some of the same opulence in the interior design as had been on display in the opera house. There were even pillars and ornate, brass light fixtures over the inside tables. The outside terrace seemed so innocent and quaint in comparison, completely misleading to what was hiding on the inside. “I mean, I have enough money, of course, I just don’t want to risk running out before the week’s out or anything… because it’s for all of us. I don’t want you guys to have to pay for anything to make up for it.”

The twins exchanged glances. “We’re paying for today,” was said in firm unison.

“All day!” Mabel exclaimed. “It’s a birthday celebration, belated or not. So you just keep your wallet shut.”

“Don’t argue either,” Dipper continued. “You can argue about it the rest of the week, but not today.”

“What? But you guys already paid to get here and just paid for the tour. I said I’d handle food and that includes today. It’s the least I can do,” Wirt argued nonetheless.

“Birthdays are different, man.”

“And we flew all the way out here to make sure you had a good one!”

Dipper cupped his chin, rubbing his lips gently over Wirt’s. “Just let me give my boyfriend the birthday he deserves, okay?”

He pursed his lips, attempting to keep from being swayed by the half-kiss. “But…” It didn’t work. Wirt’s gaze darted between the two of them, their determination unwavering. His shoulders sagged. “Fine, but I still don’t want you to have to pay a lot,” he relented.

“Order something cheap, then,” Mabel teased, sticking her tongue out at him.

Cheeks warming, he bristled and was very tempted to stick his tongue out at her right back, but refrained. Somehow. “Thanks, Mabel. Never would’ve thought of that on my own.”

“I’m still hungry,” Greg piped up, arching an eyebrow. “So are we gonna eat here or what?”

“Yeah,” Dipper confirmed, “we’re eating here.”

“Outside table! Come on, Greg. Let’s go find one while the waffles get menus and whatnot.” She plucked him up, holding him on her shoulders before skipping out.

Dipper and Wirt followed soon after, dropping onto a corner table that still held the opera house in view, Wirt purposefully given the chair with the best view of it. “They have an English menu,” Dipper announced, bundling Greg into his lap so they could look over the one he’d gotten together.

“Most places will, Dipdop.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh wow! I almost forgot that I can read!” Greg grinned up at Dipper, then patted the menu fondly. “I’ve missed words. Woah. I want a ham and cheese sandwich! Oh wait! I want a _toasted_ ham and cheese sandwich!”

“Sure, Greg. If that’s what you want.” Wirt shrugged, glancing over the prices with mild surprise.

It actually wasn’t that bad. Since they were eating on the terrace, it wasn’t as expensive as he’d initially thought. His shoulders sagged with relief and he was able to relax a bit more as he perused the menu, brain working to translate some of the words he didn’t know.

“It _is_ what I want.” Greg confirmed with a solemn nod.

“Salmon sandwich,” the twins said in unison, then looked up. “Halvsies? Done.”

“Toasted ham and cheese with the egg?” Dipper suggested.

“Yes!”

“Nice.” Dipper pushed the menu aside, decision made, and ruffled Greg’s hair.

Greg tilted his head back to look at him. “I want mine with an egg too! I’d never think to put an egg on a ham and cheese sandwich!”

Wirt smiled at them over his and set it down, then really noticed the view they had of the opera house. A lump grew in his throat. They were actually here. This was Paris. They were sitting outside at a cafe in the middle of Paris with a view of Palais Garnier. The cacophony of clinking china and people chattering around them as they enjoyed their late lunches only added to the atmosphere, people of all kinds gathered on the terrace. Many were tourists, much like themselves, and the eclectic range of people was inspiring to see. A mother and daughter couple, a group of what looked to be college students, businessmen, a sketch artist. Wirt’s eyes widened with appreciation as he noted the artist was sketching the south facade of the opera house as their coffee cooled on the table.

His gaze wandered back to the building itself, then he fidgeted with his satchel and pulled out the journal Dipper had given him and a pencil. He flipped past the first page, still insanely curious as to what it said and eager to get his hands on the first blacklight he came across, onto the second. He drew one leg up, foot resting on his seat as he leaned back and propped the journal against his thigh. He flicked his gaze up, smile growing as Dipper, Greg, and Mabel were all in his line of sight along with the opera house. While he didn’t tend to draw people, it felt important to try with them in the foreground and the architecture in the background. An important part of the day, yes, but not as important as the three people with him right now.

Wirt floated in and out of conversation as they placed their orders and waited on their food, sketching carefully. A small poem was scrawled in the corner above Dipper and Greg’s heads. _Together we make four, my favored company being three, while sometimes I do long for one, two is eternally better._ Towards the top of the page, he’d left some room, an idea for this journal spawned in the night and realized fully in this moment. He wrote a longer poem, only just finishing it by the time their food arrived so he could tuck it away and become present in the here and now once again.

_I dedicate this tome to you,_  
_and every stroke of ink inside._  
_As you have filled my humble heart_  
_with affections overwhelming_  
_I fill these pages with its pregnant pieces,_  
_swollen heavy with your love,_  
_secrets unknown to all but one._  
_My soul spread bare,_  
_unveiled to you,_  
_for your eyes alone._  
_Inside are my love letters_  
_spilling from me like a fountain in a storm._  
_I give them to you freely, Dipper,_  
_oh keeper of my heart._  
_Someday I wish to tell you._  
_Someday I hope you’ll know._  
_Someday soon_  
I love you  
_Will not solely be reserved_  
_for this tome of the unknown._

 

\----

 

Later that afternoon, the four of them returned to the hotel for a short break after their adventures in Luxembourg Gardens, intending to head to the Eiffel Tower for sunset. Wirt wanted to watch the city of lights come to life with the people he loved most beside him, with Dipper’s arm around his waist, close enough to kiss and whisper whatever poetic musings the sight inspired against his ear. So far the day had been full of poetry. Poetry and architecture and romance. Whenever he could steal a moment, Wirt would catch Dipper from behind as they walked the tree-lined promenades, arms banded around his waist as he swayed playfully or dropped his chin atop his cap or simply buried his face against his neck and breathed him in, this boy’s beauty surpassing that of the Medici Fountain and Palais Garnier and all of Paris, and he was all too content to bask in it.

He didn’t want the day to end, and he couldn’t quite believe that they still had two more full days ahead of them.

Wirt laughed as they made to enter the lobby, amused by Greg’s declaration that their break be a cookie break as his little brother was determined to polish off the box of cookies they’d ended up purchasing from the shop across from where they’d had lunch. There were a dozen in the box, three for each of them, though Wirt was certain that Greg would wheedle one of Dipper’s out of him before the day was over. Holding the door open for them, Wirt let them pass first, gaze only just drifting into the lobby before it landed on an occupant of the small sitting room. The laughter died on his lips and the lively flush coloring his cheeks turned ashen and cold.

“Wait-” he wheezed, breath suddenly gone as his arm jerked forward, fingers gripping Dipper’s arm to stop him. “Wait, wait we don’t _need_ a break. Let’s just go straight to the Eiffel Tower.”

“What?” Greg blinked at him, he and Mabel stopping as well, a little ways ahead of them. “What are you talking about, Wirt?”

Greg’s voice was too loud, it would carry through the small lobby easily. Panicked, Wirt let go of Dipper and stepped inside only long enough to get in front of his brother and Mabel and herd them back out the door. “I just realized it’s close enough to sunset as it is and there’ll probably be a line and it’ll be crowded and it’s just better to be safe than sorry, right guys? Right.”

“But-” Greg started to protest when a voice he’d come to recognize interrupted him.

“Wirt.”

Wirt bristled, fingers instinctively clinging to the back of Mabel’s sweater. They could keep walking. He didn’t have to answer. They could ignore him and walk right back out the door and then Dipper and Mabel would never have to meet the man. He didn’t want them to have to meet him.

But the obedience ingrained in him had him glancing over his shoulder and it took all his willpower to keep from flinching at how close his dad was, the man having stood from his seat and crossed the lobby while his back was turned. Why was he here? They were supposed to be done with him. He was supposed to be done with them. What did he want?

The twins looked back as one, immediately closing ranks. Mabel let Wirt cling, shifting closer to him even as she took Greg’s shoulders and drew him in and Dipper shifted closer to Wirt’s other side, taking his hand and lacing their fingers. They may not have seen the man before, but there was only one person in Paris who knew who they were and there was enough resemblance that both knew they were looking at Mort Palmer.

It was with confusion that the man looked between the four of them, confusion that steadily warped and twisted into something like anger tangled with disapproval and shock as his gaze fell upon the way Wirt held onto Dipper’s hand like a lifeline. His dark gaze shot back to Wirt’s and the newly sixteen-year-old hated the way it made him want to cower and cringe. He couldn’t be scared of this man, not with Dipper and Mabel and Greg to think of. Especially Greg.

“Wirt, what the hell is this?” he asked, voice quiet and cold.

“N-none of… it’s none of your business.” Wirt managed to choke out, brow furrowing as he lifted his chin. “What are you even doing here?”

“I’m paying for this hotel room, I have every right to be here and check up on you. It’s a good thing I did.” Mort Palmer’s eyes narrowed as he gestured brusquely at his and Dipper’s linked hands. “I take it this is… what was it? Skippy?”

“Dipper,” Wirt corrected quietly. “And yes. This… this is him.”

“Right.” Mort snorted as if the boy’s name really didn’t matter in the great scheme of things. “Are you going to explain to me how you _conveniently_ came across your boyfriend in another country just hours after you get your own room?”

“I didn’t-” Wirt’s face paled even further, jaw dropping as he realized what conclusion his dad was drawing. “That’s _not_ why I asked for a new room.”

“Oh, I’m sure it isn’t. I’m not an idiot, Wirt. I was sixteen once.” Mort glared at him. “You obviously used me to get a free trip to Paris for you and your boyfriend.”

“What- no. No, stop it. I’m not the one who had ulterior motives for this trip! I thought I’d be spending time with you-”

“I bet you did,” Mort scoffed, giving Dipper a once-over.

“-until you ruined it yourself. Dipper’s here because unlike you he actually cares about me. Him and Mabel-”

“He’s a teenager. I can guarantee you that the only thing _he_ cares about is-”

“I’m sorry, but Greg is _seven_ so be quiet, _please_ ,” Wirt interrupted, doing just what his dad had done seconds before, but Mort was much less understanding about it.

He advanced on them and though Wirt wanted to cower, he let go of Mabel’s sweater and Dipper’s hand and put himself between them and his dad. Unused to Wirt’s defiance, Mort stopped short and met his stare evenly.

“Your mother called and told me you were upset.”

“I was,” Wirt confirmed shortly.

Mort arched an eyebrow. “This doesn’t look upset to me.”

It was Wirt’s turn to scoff. “I’m sorry that I’m not miserable twenty-four seven like you want me to be.”

“Son, you better hold your tongue if you know what’s good for you,” Mort growled.

“What are you going to do?” Wirt held his ground, arms crossed as he lifted his chin. “We’re in public. You gonna hit me in public?”

“Maybe.”

That shut Wirt up for a moment, his stance faltering as his knees wobbled. Pale-faced, he glanced back at Greg to make sure his little brother was safely behind Mabel and out of the way of Mort’s wrath. Though, he didn’t really want Greg seeing any of this, he reflected as he glimpsed the righteous anger on the seven-year-old’s face.

“Mabel, Dipper, can you guys take Greg upstairs?” Wirt asked carefully, his gaze going back to meet Mort’s.

“They’re not setting foot in the room I paid for.”

“Fine. Can you take Greg outside then?”

“I don’t need to go outside,” Greg protested. “I’m sticking with you, Wirt.”

“We're not leaving,” Mabel confirmed.

Dipper shifted a fraction closer to his boyfriend, eyes narrowing dangerously. He didn’t grab his hand back as he wanted to and push him safely behind him, instead letting him stand on his own, Dipper close if needed. “If you even _try_ to touch him, I will break your wrist,” he threatened, voice low. He'd fought worse.

Wirt’s eyes widened, his gaze flicking to Dipper at the low tone. His heart jumped at the movement out of the corner of his eye, his dad taking a step towards his boyfriend, and Wirt held his arm up as he stepped back into Dipper, well aware that it wasn’t much of a shield, but it was all he had. It was all he could be.

Mort’s glare moved from Dipper to Wirt. “You’re just going to let him talk to me like that?”

“I don’t _let_ him do anything, he’s his own person. He can do what he wants.” Wirt’s throat was tight, his voice a little hoarse from nerves, so he swallowed. “Besides… you kinda deserve it.”

“I'll say,” Mabel muttered, her fury just as molten as Dipper’s. This was the person who'd hurt Greg, put a bruise on a harmless little boy’s face. And if necessary, she would very happily help her twin break that wrist if he tried to touch either of them.

“And not just ‘kinda.’ You totally deserve it,” Greg chimed in and even Jason Funderburker croaked his agreement. “If there was a world record for worst dads ever, you’d be one of the winners.”

“Greg.” Wirt cast him a stern look, silently warning him about saying anything else.

“Well, it’s true!”

Wirt opened his mouth to attempt to hush him again, but his dad beat him to the punch. “Go pack up your things. I’m cancelling the reservation and taking you back to the hotel. Then you can explain to your mother how this was all an act so you could go on some expensive joyride with your boyfriend.”

“Mom already knows they’re here,” he replied, grateful for that at least. “And trust me, she’s ecstatic about it. I can guarantee she’d rather me and Greg stay in a room with them than be within ten feet of you right now, and that’s not even with her knowing what you did to her kid. You take our room away, I tell her, and you’ll probably get marked forever as the guy who hits kids. We’ll see how many business trips you’ll get to go on when that’s the label attached to your name.”

Mort’s scowl deepened. “To think I actually felt bad about hurting your feelings. I should never have offered to bring you with me.”

“Yeah, and I should never have accepted it,” Wirt returned, though his hands were shaking. “You’d think I’d have finally learned, right?”

“You’d think,” he sneered. “I made it quite clear I wanted nothing to do with you.”

Wirt pursed his lips. “Believe me, you won’t have to put up with me ever again after this.”

“Thank god for that at least.”

“You don't deserve him,” Dipper snapped, unable to suppress it a moment longer.

“Dipper-” Wirt glanced back at him, but he didn’t get a chance to say much else before his dad stepped in.

“That’s fine with me. I don’t even want him.”

How could something he’d known for some time still sting like a white hot brand burning his chest? Wirt closed his mouth, gaze dropping to the floor while his head stayed angled towards his boyfriend. It was fine. This wasn’t news to him.

“Now you just stay out of this,” Mort continued, directing his annoyance at Dipper. “This doesn’t concern you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Wirt concerns me. You hurting him concerns me a lot.” He reached for him, taking his hand and squeezing. “You hurting Greg concerns me. You want to try hitting me and see how far that gets you?”

Wirt clutched his hand tightly, lifting his gaze as he gasped, the fear of his dad trying just that squeezing his heart. “ _Dipper_.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Mort growled, drawing Wirt’s attention back to him sharply.

“No. Stop it, no one’s hitting anyone. No one’s breaking wrists, no one’s getting smacked in the face. Not today.” Not ever again if he could help it. “Dad, just- just go back to your hotel, okay? I’m not going to ask you for anything else ever again, so just-” Wirt swallowed, holding his ground. “Leave. Leave us alone for the rest of the week and then you’ll never have to deal with me again, okay?”

“I’m not letting you hole up here with this two-bit punk when you’re sixteen years old! That’s disgusting!” Mort reached out as if to yank Wirt away from Dipper, but Wirt pushed his hand away.

“You don’t know the first thing about him, for one. And two, you left me holed up and alone in New York for over twelve hours when I was _seven_. You think that’s healthy and safe? That’s even _more_ disgusting! No babysitter, you didn’t call to check in, you didn’t even lock the door- I went on the freaking roof of a thirty-eight story building! And you were going to do it again here, too!”

Once started, the words just kept spilling out, Wirt’s face hot and eyes wet as he glared at the man who dared to stand in his way. “You left me alone like I’m just some neighbor’s dog that you’re getting paid to watch and doing a half-assed job of it! So you know what? You don’t get to say a thing about who I stay with! You hit my brother, you’ve threatened my boyfriend, and you’re saying that it’s less disgusting to stay with you than it is someone who hopped on the first flight out here and paid _thousands_ out of their own pocket just to hug me while I cried? You’re insane if you honestly think that!”

“Son-”

“No! I’m not done yet! So you shut up and listen to _me_ for once!” Wirt snapped, shocking his dad into silence, only to realize just how long he’d been ranting and that he actually didn’t have anything more to say. Breathing heavily, he kept up the impression that he did until his heart wasn’t racing quite so fast. “Okay. I’m done now.” In more ways than one.

Dipper hadn’t known that, hadn’t known any of it. He and Mabel exchanged looks, her eyes as wide as his, her face pale. Dipper’s lips thinned. “You know what, you can call me a two-bit punk if you want to. I don't care what you think. But I know for a fact that I'm a better man than you'll ever be. And, no thanks to you, so’s Wirt. He’s _brilliant_ and witty and just kind. He obviously didn't get any of that from you.”

Wirt’s fingers curled in his sweater over his heart as it swelled upon Dipper’s defense, his gaze shifting to his boyfriend. The storm swirling inside him calmed, the anger and the grief mellowing into something he could tuck away for the time being. He squeezed his hand, lacing their fingers together.

By some stroke of luck or a miracle, Mort’s quick temper remained just as mellow, though his disdain remained. “You might think that now, but he’s more trouble than he’s worth.” He flicked his stare back to Wirt. “Fine. You know what? I don’t care what you do. I’m done.”

“Good. Go.” Wirt pressed his lips together tightly, tugging Dipper close and standing in front of Mabel and Greg while Mort brushed past them, making sure to stay between them and his dad in case he tried anything, but it seemed he really was done. “Enjoy the rest of your business trip.”

Mort paused by the lobby door, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t say anything else. He straightened his shoulders and continued walking right out the door. Wirt watched him leave, heart trembling in his chest, but more or less at peace with this. He wanted him gone. He didn’t want him around the people he loved, putting them at risk.

This must have been what his mom had felt like during the divorce. There were no more chances. They were done.

It hit him like a train, face turning ashen as whatever “fight” reflex faded with the threat gone. “Oh my gosh.” Wirt pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, exhaling quickly when he realized he was holding his breath. “I’m sorry you had to see him, I didn’t want you to, I-”

“It's okay. It's okay, Wirt, shh.” Dipper turned towards him, cupping his cheeks. “Mabel, take Greg upstairs. We'll be right behind you.”

“Sure. Come on, baby. Dipper’ll take care of him.”

“But…” Greg hesitated, hugging Jason Funderburker as he watched his brother try to get control of his breathing. It did look like Dipper had him though, and if anyone could take care of Wirt it was him. “Okay.”

Mabel swept him up, frog and box of cookies too. “Come on,” she murmured, exchanging looks with her twin before carrying him through the lobby.

Dipper brushed his lips to his boyfriend’s. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, pilgrim.”

Wirt shook his head, arms quickly wrapping around his shoulders as he sagged against him. “You don’t- you don’t have to be, it wasn’t- Don’t be sorry, you were great. You were… thank you. Thank you for just- for being here. For thinking I’m- I don’t know. Just thank you.”

“You're so much better than he makes you feel. You don't deserve the way he treats you.”

“Sometimes I think I do,” he admitted softly. “Sometimes I wonder what I did wrong.”

“Did Greg deserve to get hit?”

“No. But Greg was never an awful brother.”

“Wirt.” Dipper dropped his hands to his waist, giving him a squeeze. “You weren't a brother when you were seven. No seven year old child ever does anything to deserve neglect.”

Breath catching, his arms tightened around Dipper. “I… I know, but- maybe it was some kind of punishment for what I’d be in the future. And you didn’t know me when I was seven, I could’ve been a brat.” He forced a smile, the edges of it quivering. “No, I know that even if I was that’s no excuse. I know now that it wasn’t my fault, but back then I just… I just wanted him to love me and I didn’t know why he didn’t.”

“Because he sucks.” Dipper’s smile was brief, shrugging. “Something in him just doesn't function, Wirt, and that's not your fault. It's him. It's all him.” Dipper wrapped his arms fully around him. “You're so worth loving. You're so worth effort. You try, you care, you're strong and beautiful. If he can't see that, it's his faulty perception.”

Wirt gave himself up completely to Dipper’s embrace, soaking up all he had to give and giving back what he could as his fingers curled in his shirt and their noses brushed. “You are, too. You’re as far from a two-bit punk as possible and you’re so smart,” he breathed, a gentle light filling his eyes. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Piedmont and a crazy little town no one's heard of waiting for you.” He nuzzled him fondly. “Come on, pilgrim. Let's head to the room.”

Wirt nodded, unwinding his arms from around him. Before he pulled away completely, he framed Dipper’s face with his hands and tilted his head back for a firm kiss. “Yeah. Good plan. Think I need like… all three of my cookies so I can be sugared up for the Eiffel Tower. If you’re still up for it.”

“I'm still up for it. We're not letting him ruin the makeup birthday.” Dipper took his hand, lacing their fingers. “And maybe I'll let you share mine since I like your face.”

“Oh, you do? You know, I wasn’t completely sure,” Wirt huffed out a small chuckle as they started for the elevator, eager to push the stain of his father’s presence behind them and focus on what mattered and having fun with those who mattered, too. “But I couldn’t take your cookies from you. You deserve them. You and your handsome face.”

“We both know Greg’s going to take one,” he pointed out. “And I don't mind sharing.”

Wirt smiled at him, all fondness as he leaned in and brushed his lips to his cheek. “You’re just too good.”

“Nah.” Dipper lifted his hand to his lips, lingering over the knuckles while the elevator door opened. “I'm just really, really in love with you.”

A blush filled his face as his heart fluttered and skipped. Wirt held his breath to prolong the light, giddy sensation swimming through his veins as he watched Dipper, almost tripping over himself as they stepped into the elevator. He had a feeling Dipper would have him tripping over himself for the rest of his life, really, and in that moment the thought was only thrilling. “I- you… you really are too good.”

Their hands stayed joined for their elevator ride up, all the way down the hall until they reached their room. Wirt inserted the key, fingers flexing and curling against Dipper’s, then opened the door to find their siblings. Housekeeping had already made their rounds, it seemed, with their beds made, dishes cleared from breakfast, and new towels hung in the bathroom. It was a relief to see, the small, clean space somehow more of a sanctuary than it would’ve been had their mess from earlier been there. Especially since a new mess would likely be created soon, the box of cookies already open on the bed Greg and Mabel were sharing. Two cookies were already missing, one being nibbled at by Mabel and the other half-devoured in Greg’s hand as he looked up upon their entry.

“You’re just in time for cookie break,” he told them, exceptionally relieved to find that Wirt didn’t look as bad as he had downstairs.

Wirt let out a slow breath and ruffled Greg’s hair as he passed him to sit on the bed he and Dipper shared, unwinding his satchel from across his shoulder. “Cookie break sounds like just the thing we need, Greg.”

Greg’s face lit up. “Which one do you want? You have… the chocolate chip coconut one, chocolate chip and toffee, and white chocolate and raspberry.”

“All of them. But we’ll start with coconut.” Wirt held his hand out while Greg plucked his out of the box with a napkin and reached across the gap between their beds to hand it to him. “Thanks.”

“Do you want a cookie, Dipper?” Greg asked.

“Mm. Let's see.” Dipper checked the box, humming. His cookies were definitely the plainest set, his taste buds not as keen on sweets as the other three. He plucked out the peanut butter and leaned down, bumping the bill of his cap to Greg’s head. “Maybe you can have an extra one of mine.”

“Yeah?” Greg bumped his head into Dipper’s cap back with a smile. “Are you sure? You can’t take it back later. Once it’s mine, it’s mine forever.” There was a croak from the lucky frog. “And Jason Funderburker’s.”

“I wouldn’t give it to you if I didn’t think you’d share it with Jason Funderburker.”

“He’s a very spoiled, lucky frog,” Mabel mused, dropping beside Greg with her knitting and nabbing one of her cookies from the box.

“Gee. Kind of reminds me of a certain pig back home.”

“Excuse you, I will hear no bad things about my Waddles. He is a national treasure, as decreed by Congressman Mabel.”

“I know what Trembley said, but that’s not how the government-”

“Congressman Mabel!”

“Oh my god.” He laughed, throwing up his hands and crossed to his boyfriend, dropping down beside him.

Wirt waited for him to settle before leaning against him, resting his head against his shoulder as he took a few bites of his cookie, the sugar a shallow comfort, one that was incomparable to snuggling with his boyfriend, pressed up against him and warm. He exhaled heavily, letting the residual pent up tension go and lifted his head to press a kiss to Dipper’s cheek.

“How’s yours?” he asked as he polished off his cookie.

“These actually aren't that bad.” He'd only taken one bite, so snapped it in half and offered a piece. “Here.”

“Didn’t realize you were serious about the sharing.” Wirt hesitated, but took what his boyfriend was offering. “That wasn’t me fishing to steal some of your cookie, just so you know.”

“I know, but it's good enough to share.” Dipper kissed him fondly. “You're pretty enough to share with.”

“Pfft.” The compliment had him flushing and he flicked Dipper’s cap before pressing his forehead to it, closing his eyes to focus on the feel of him close and comfortable. He was wanted, and the person who wanted him was warm and safe. “Thank you,” he murmured.

It didn't feel like he was only talking about the cookie. “No problem, pilgrim. I love you,” Dipper replied, voice just as soft. “Nothing and no one’s going to take that away.”

A nod turned into an affectionate nuzzle, a kiss brushed to his temple. Wirt curled closer, his ankle hooking around one of Dipper’s, his calf resting over his shin while their knees bumped together. Wirt kissed his temple, just under the hat, then again, heedless of the way the fabric of his cap scratched his nose. It was a familiar sensation by now, one he cherished as much as the rest of him. “You okay?” he whispered, letting him know if he needed to confide in him, he was there.

“I don't like being called disgusting or a punk. I hate the way your face looked when he said he didn't want you. He's a great big idiot who'd be lucky to have you in his life, but he made his choices. Wrong, stupid, awful choices that hurt you.”

Dipper looked down, glaring at what remained of his cookie. “I wanted to hit him so freaking hard... I still do, but... he's still your dad. So I don't want to, like, be that guy.” He looked up, a hand lifting to cup his cheek. “I'll defend you from him. I'll be your shield, always, but I won't attack him. I love you too much to put you in the middle of that.”

Heart pounding hard at the words, a cacophony of emotions swirled in his eyes. Apology still lingered, on behalf of a man who shared his blood, though it fell to to the wayside as gratitude and unspeakable love rippled across his face. Wirt rubbed his cheek into Dipper’s palm, head tilting so he could graze it with his lips. He would’ve understood, had Dipper given in to the urge to actually strike him, but was relieved immensely that he hadn’t. His dad wasn’t a strong man, not muscular, not a fighter, but he would’ve feared his retaliation just the same, for Dipper’s sake. It was bad enough that Mort had struck Greg, he didn’t want him to touch Dipper or Mabel, too, if it was within his power. They were too good for that. They were too good to even be in the same room as him.

“He deserved it just for hitting Greg alone, and twice that for what he said to you. He’s my dad, I should be the only one affected by him or have to deal with him. I promise, after today, you won’t have to see him ever again. _I_ won’t even see him ever again-” The realization hit hard, like he’d been the one punched in the gut and he had to take a second to ignore the tangle of confusion that inspired, because that was good, wasn’t it? It’s what he wanted. He was happy to see him leave. “So- yeah. You- I get why you want to hit him, I do, but… thank you. For not.” Wirt leaned forward to brush their noses together. “You’re so much more a better man than him. In every possible way.”

“So are you. I meant that. No thanks to him, you’re incredible.” Dipper sat up straighter, shifting his hat to the side before claiming his lips. He hadn’t missed the pause, and understood why it was there even though he hated it. There was too much hate bubbling in him, so he drowned it out by pouring love into the kiss. Both hands cupped Wirt’s face, thumbs caressing soothing circles beneath his eyes.

They closed on a flutter of his eyelids, Wirt’s free hand lifting to stroke the back of one of Dipper’s. He could feel every drop of love on his lips, his heart hungry for it all as he deepened the kiss. He wanted to soak it all up, drown in it, know nothing but this feeling that Dipper gave so freely. His tongue slipped between his teeth, tasting the mouth that defended him so ardently as he gripped his hand tightly.

This wasn’t disgusting. This wasn’t some scheme or something to spite his dad. This was something he could never in a million years recreate, he was sure of it. It might have been naive and nothing but the lovestruck fantasy of an idealistic teenager, but for now it was real and it was theirs and it was something they gave each other freely. No expectations. No false promises. No feelings of obligation.

Dipper didn’t have to be here, but he was. Dipper didn’t have to put up with him and his issues, but he was. Dipper didn’t have to love him, but he did.

“You’re incredible, too,” Wirt told him once he had to break the kiss for air, staying close enough to feel their breaths mingling over dampened lips. “So incredible. Best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d cross the brink of death a thousand times over if it meant the promise of meeting you just once. And I wouldn’t regret a thing about it.”

“I’m glad it only took once.”

“Well, yeah. Me too, I’m just trying to make it sound more poetic or something. And… you know, I would. I’d do anything for you.” Wirt brushed their lips together again, this time lighter and not full of desperation, then twisted Dipper’s cap back into place, tugging the bill low over his eyes.

With a laugh, Dipper tugged his hat off entirely and climbed into his boyfriend’s lap. He snuggled in, tucking his head beneath Wirt’s chin. “I don’t think there’s too many ways for me to make it more obvious that I’d do anything for you too.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve made it pretty clear.” Wirt wrapped him up in his arms, smile gentle as he nuzzled him, then let his chin rest on his head as he finally nibbled on his half of the cookie. “Sorry if I get crumbs in your hair.”

He snorted. “I’ll take a shower if you do, I guess.”

“I did.” Wirt brushed them out of his curls for him. “It’s not that bad though. Plus you have a hat. Your shower can wait until after the Eiffel Tower.”

“Dude, yes. I’m getting a kiss from my gorgeous boyfriend on top of the Eiffel Tower. It’s totally happening.”

“Oh, wow. What a coincidence. I’m getting a kiss from _my_ gorgeous boyfriend on top of the Eiffel Tower, too. Small world.”

“We’re just so lucky to both have gorgeous boyfriends, man.” Dipper laughed, nuzzling into his neck. “We should probably head out pretty soon, you think? I’d like to see the lights liven up the city even while the sun goes down. I bet it’s great.”

Wirt clamped his lips shut against a few giggles as the affectionate touch tickled him, both figuratively and literally, and he turned his head to brush a kiss to the curve of his ear. “Yeah, let’s go. I’m ready if you are.”

“Just a minute. If you're going to fool around with some two-bit punk, you should look the part.” Plus, he simply wanted the sign. This very sweet poet was his, no matter what. Picking a spot above his collar, Dipper let his tongue tease. “Mine,” he murmured and nipped, teeth and lips and tongue eagerly staking a claim.

Whatever protests he’d wanted to make about “fooling around with a two-bit punk,” fell away from Wirt’s mind as a soft gasp of a sound floated off his tongue in place of the words. “Yours, yeah,” he breathed, hugging Dipper tightly, head tipped back to let his clever mouth, the one that could be as sweet as the boy himself, witty, or cutting and relentless in defense of others, move over his skin. “Dipper…”

“I love you,” Dipper breathed, hickey placed. His lips trailed up, light pecks peppering his jawline. “Ready to go now.”

“Gosh, I don't know that I am.” Wirt could feel the mark throbbing in a pleasant, present reminder of his claim, a sharp contrast to the flutter of his lips to his jaw, the grazes almost nonexistent and his body tingled with the dual sensations. “You’re making me dizzy. Might need another minute before I can walk straight.” He tipped his chin down to capture his lips for a firm kiss of his own.

Dipper's laugh was lost in it, hands lifting to bury themselves in his hair as they kissed. Dizzy, yeah. Wirt was very good at making him dizzy in return. He loved it. He loved him so much. No matter who his dad was. He wasn't Mort Palmer, but Wirt. His shy, warm poet with an interest in architecture and who'd been so happy to hug and cuddle in the midst of a Parisian garden.

Wirt broke their kiss on his own breathless giggle, his hand reaching for one of Dipper’s to tug it away, persuading it into lacing his fingers with his. “Still trying to make me look the part?” he asked, raising an eyebrow while he brushed a kiss to Dipper’s finger, since there was no doubt his easily mussable hair was a mess. Not that he was complaining. He’d take Dipper’s hands in his hair over looking presentable any day.

“I think I succeeded. You look very cute and mussed and mine.” He nipped at his lower lip playfully, glad to hear his laughter. “Come on. Let's see if you can get cuter on the Eiffel Tower.”

Wirt scrunched his nose, rubbing it to Dipper’s. “And maybe while we’re there I can return the favor.”

 

\----

 

Though he’d been up it two days before towards the end of the day, as the sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon on this birthday do-over, it felt like a completely different experience. Like he was a completely different person.

Wirt looked out at the city from the top floor, the view only slightly impeded by the metal wires caging them in. There was the steady murmur of the crowd gathered up there with them, but it was all white noise to him as he considered the view of Paris at dusk with eyes not clouded by unrealistic expectations. Because really, that’s what they’d been. Hopes he’d thought had died at age eight had flared to life with a single phone call. He should’ve hated his dad for abandoning him, should've hated him for a lot more than that, but he hadn't. Not then, not even now.

Wirt was too tired to hate him. It wasn't worth his time and energy, the headache it inspired not something he was keen on enduring, not if he didn't have to. Not on the Eiffel Tower at sunset with people he loved, who absolutely were worth his time and energy, one hundred percent.

He hated what his dad had done to Greg, he hated what he said to Dipper and he hated that he made Mabel worry, but he didn't hate him. He just... felt sorry for him, amongst other things. Sorry that he lived a life where he held a grudge against a six-year-old child for a divorce that was inevitable. What had given Wirt a new lease on life and an appreciation for the six-year-old in his life clearly had never happened to his father and honestly he didn't even know if it would've. Maybe Wirt himself did have a bit more compassion, maybe he was a better person like Dipper said.

He was worth two plane tickets from California to Paris, a fight with a parent, and a week of ditched school, at the very least.

Glancing behind him, towards the lift and away from the edge after one good look and several pictures, he caught a glimpse of Mabel snapping shots of Greg as he played with the telescope mounted to the floor, clearly alternating between him and the two of them for her scrapbookortunities. Wirt stepped to the side and back a little, letting go of Dipper's hand to band his arms around his waist from behind, chin resting on his hat, able to see the view of Paris sprawling below them, ready to light up in a matter of minutes, if he lifted up on the balls of his feet some. He'd discovered, somewhere during the day between the opera house, cemetery, and gardens, that he had to and was both delighted by the newly gained millimeters and disappointed that it was a taste of the changes that would occur once they were separated again, though honestly this one had been coming even while they were together in Lakeville. So maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but that certainly wasn't something either of them were going to reflect on when they had romance at the top of the tower to get to.

“All those stairs worth it?” Wirt nuzzled the top of his head as he grinned. They'd only gone from the ground floor to the first, everyone more or less in agreement that elevators had been created for a reason.

“Yeah, man.” Dipper laid his hands on Wirt’s arms, relaxing against him. “Worth the elevator more.”

Wirt hummed his agreement, squeezing him gently. “Sort of feels like a dream. Being here with you. Or maybe being here without you was like the dream and now I’m waking up to a better reality.”

“I like the reality. All things considered, I’m glad I’m here with you. I really don’t know how I would’ve managed a week not talking to you at all, but that’s just, y’know, me being totally selfish.” He tugged at the sleeve of his sweater. “I really wanted you to have a good week.”

“I will have a good week,” he assured him, dropping his head to Dipper’s shoulder instead so he could press their cheeks together. “You’re here. And Mabel and Greg and even Jason Funderburker. That’s all I need. And it’s not selfish. It’s sweet.”

“Whatever you say, pilgrim. As long as you’re happy.” Dipper closed his eyes on a sigh, relishing having him so close, but opened them soon enough. He didn’t want to miss a sunset atop the Eiffel Tower. “Has the do-over birthday been more-or-less successful?”

“Are you kidding? You know it has been. We’ve had an amazing day.” Wirt frowned a little, trying read what was in Dipper’s eyes. “I mean, seeing my dad put a kink in things, yeah, but… I’m not letting him ruin my birthday. Not when you’ve done so much to make it special. To make me feel special. We could’ve sat out on the balcony of the hotel all afternoon and that would’ve made it a successful do-over birthday just because I’d have been with you. You make me happy. You’ve done more for me in one summer and a day than he’s done for me in my entire lifetime. You’re… you’re the one I want to be worthy of, Dipper.”

Dipper turned in his arms, hands lifting to cup his cheeks. “You’re absolutely worthy of me. You’re everything I told him you are and more. I love you.” He brushed their lips together, the first of their kisses atop the tower. “Happy birthday, Wirt.”

Wirt sank into a deeper kiss for their second, drawing it out until the first of the lights began to flicker on. “Thank you, Dipper,” he murmured, holding onto his waist as he nudged their brows together. “Wish I could be there for yours. We should have an early celebration for you and Mabel on Thursday. Whatever you guys want to do.”

“Catacombs, definitely.” He smiled, hands leaving his face to curl loosely in his sweater. “You know you don't have to thank me. I'd do anything to make sure you're happy.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear. Still appreciate it though. You and everything you’ve done for me. You care and…” Wirt swallowed and glanced down at their feet. “And you want me and that- it means a lot and I want you to know that.”

“I know, Wirt.” Dipper cupped his chin, lifting his head to press their lips together again. “Having you makes me happy. Knowing you care about me as much as I do you makes me happy.”

Wirt had to bite down on his lower lip when the kiss ended, fingers clinging to Dipper’s shirt. “Guess it’s just hard to see how that can be enough sometimes when I’m… I’m just me,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on Dipper’s. “But if you say just having me and knowing I care makes you happy, then who am I to say that can’t be true, right? Especially when it’s the same for me.”

“Sometimes - well, most of the time - I don't see how I can be enough for you, but...” Dipper shrugged. “We work. What we have works, and I wouldn't trade it or you for anything.”

“Neither would I.” Wirt wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close for a tight embrace. He wanted to thank him for coming for him, he wanted to thank him for standing by him against his dad. He wanted to thank him for staying. So he squeezed him and placed a kiss over his pulse point on his neck, as if his feelings could seep through his skin at the contact and into his veins to carried more quickly to his heart. “You’re enough, Dipper. You’re more than enough. You’re all I really want.”

“You're all I want, too.” Sighing, content, Dipper dropped his cheek to Wirt’s shoulder and ended up gasping. Face angled towards the city spread before them, he could see the golden lights warming the night. Like on the balcony of their hotel room, the city looked beautiful. But standing on the tower was like standing in a different world.

When the tower's lights lit around them, he had to laugh. They were part of it. Part of the wonders stretched before them. “Oh my god,” he breathed, tugging on Wirt’s sweater with sudden, eager delight. “ _Wow_ , Wirt. Just- wow.”

Grinning as he took in the sight around them, Wirt pressed closer to feel Dipper's laugh, his elation, and let it fill him while his heart quivered from the magic of it all. “‘Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight,’” he quoted as he nuzzled Dipper, pulling his gaze away from the city and the warm, yellowed lights around them to find them brighter in his boyfriend's eyes, illuminating his face in the dying light of day and he couldn’t help but lift his hand so his fingertips could skim over his cheek. “You're anything but simple, though the sight of you in the twinkling of twilight makes the tremor of my heart when it’s close to yours as clear as a cloudless sky in summer.”

Dipper’s cheeks colored, but his smile stayed. “I love the way your mind works, how you can put a spin on poetry and make it yours.”

“Yeah, well... I don't know. Things just come to me when it's you. You're inspiring.” Wirt's smile turned shy. “And, you know, it's all true.”

“If it’s true for you, that's good enough for me.” Dipper didn't have poetry, but he had actions. Catching Wirt’s hand, he pressed a kiss to the palm and words fell despite himself. “If I could, I would make all your days as good as this. I would have you as happy as this every day, your brightness as golden as the city around us. I would give you endless joy if I could, but I'm bound by reality and amazed that you settle for what little I can do. I love you, Wirt.”

Eyes wide, it was Wirt’s turn to flush as he soaked up all Dipper had to say. His heart was beating so loud, skipping every other beat, he was certain his boyfriend could feel it, hear it. “O-oh my gosh,” he breathed, voice catching as the romance of it all caught up with him. He was used to feeling romantic, to wanting to indulge and shower Dipper in it, but was still completely stunned by being wooed himself. Love letters, acts of devotion, the poetry that poured from his lips… Wirt nearly swooned and that only made the color in his cheeks darken.

“It’s- it’s not a little,” he managed to say, feeling stupid as his head still swam through Dipper’s love, but still needed to tell him. “And I’m not settling. I’m absolutely not settling.” Wirt sealed their lips together, not a soft, gentle brush of a kiss, but full of the passion Dipper instilled him with. Passion, love, need, and gratitude.

Dipper clung to him, greedy for everything Wirt gave and happy to give what he felt right back. No one else made him feel how Wirt made him feel. No one ever had before, and he knew no one else ever would. It was crazy, just the hopes of a teenager, but he held onto it as tightly as he did his boyfriend’s sweater. He would never let go if he didn't have to.

They would never have to be alone.

When their kiss steadied, feet back on solid ground, Wirt eased back to find the lights of Paris in Dipper’s eyes. It really almost seemed like a dream. He had to lean in to press another, sweeter kiss to his lips to make sure he was real. A dream could never hope to compete with the wonder that was Dipper Pines.

Soothed by a few more gentle kisses, Wirt held tight to him, arms around his neck as he leaned into him. His heart was still bruised and battered, he’d have to sort through the complicated emotions his father evoked at some point, but for now he had a balm. He had a boy who was willing to cross oceans for him, just to make him smile and hold him while he cried.

He had a boy who loved him and expected nothing in return.

It was simple to Wirt, surrounded by the golden glow of an extravagant city, that no gift nor attempt at one could ever top that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay here! We have been very busy bees as of late and had a good chunk of this to rewrite because we weren't quite satisfied with how the fight with Mort played out. This seems to suit the tone of this story a little bit better. Hope you've enjoyed this first of many side stories to the MBF universe! Thank you all for your feedback and for reading and your patience with these fluctuations in our update schedule.


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